


Shades of Time

by ElnaK



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: At World's End, Curse of the Black Pearl, Dead Man's Chest, F/M, Gen, M/M, Time Travel, future!Will, there are two Wills out there!, undead/immortal!Will, wait a minute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElnaK/pseuds/ElnaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will can finally go and visit Elizabeth's grave, six years after her death, he is devastated. As Calypso watches her ferryman falling apart, she searches for a solution to his problem, but can only think of one thing: getting Chronos', god of time and destiny, help, for he is the distant ancestor of the Turners and the very reason they always have uncanny fates. Luckily, Chronos thought of the same thing, and together, they send Will back in time, for him to change the destiny of his past self, and, maybe, find happiness as an immortal demigod free of the duty of the captain of the Flying Dutchman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I don't know how often I will update this. I hope once a month at least, maybe more often.  
> I'm still wondering if I'm going to end this as a willington story, since, you know, Elizabeth will be with past-Will, and Will and James need to be happy, I'm telling you... But worry not, if I do that, it still won't be the main focus, just a part of the story.

William Turner the second set foot on the beach, and he knew he should have felt the relief of one day on land for ten years at sea, but he didn't, and he knew why.

Ten years since last time he come on shore, and this time too, he hadn't aged a day.

His father, Bootstrap Bill, or William Turner the first, put down the oars he had used to row them to the beach. He was still sitting in the dinghy, and this time, he wouldn't get out of it, he wouldn't accompany his son to see his daughter-in-law. Maybe he'd go, later, but he'd leave the first hours of this day to his son.

Bootstrap Bill knew why Will was so moody, and he couldn't blame him.

The older man, though unaging as his son and captain, looked up at the man and woman standing on the beach, not far enough.

William Turner the third was there, waiting in silence. He and his sister, Ann, had waited a long time for the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ to come.

Obviously, he was Will's son, and really, they should have come up with better, because it was looking more and more like a pattern, the husband away at sea and not there to name his child, and the wife ending up giving their son his father's name. The same thing had happened when Bill had had his son, and now, it was getting confusing.

Junior, they called him that not to get too confused, had become a sailor too, but a merchant, though some said he had been way too good with a sword and too used to the working of an attacking pirate's mind to be honest. And it was the truth. Son of the seas' ferryman, son of the pirate King, Junior was well known amongst the Brethren, not for pillaging and plundering, for he was a honest man, but because no pirate had actually wanted to cross swords with him. Too dangerous an opponent, and too dangerous a father to deal with if they ever managed to kill him.

Junior, too, had had the bright idea to be at sea when his wife had gone into labour, and now they had a fourth William Turner to deal with. A fourth William Turner, who unbelievably had fallen into the same predicament, though because he had been lost at sea at the time, as his namesakes, when his son had been born. Bill usually said there was a curse upon the family that took away their wives' imagination for brand new first names each time their husbands were at see. And with their luck, he could actually be right about it.

Bootstrap then looked at his granddaugther, Ann Jennings, and smiled a bit. He loved the thought of his family, though he rarely had the pleasure to spend time with them.

For all Junior looked like his father and grandfather at his age, or, more accurately, what Will would have looked like if he had ever aged past twenty-one years old, Ann was a perfect mix of her two parents, Will and Elizabeth. Blond, with brown eyes, and determined features, she had soon caught the eyes of many men, some of them respectable as her husband, Philip Jennings, even if there were rumors about the virtue of her mother, who had had two children exactly ten years apart, and had a wedding ring though no husband.

Elizabeth.

Bill's spirit deflated instantly.

He had never had the occasion to know her well, but she was still his son's wife, and when Will had needed to convey a message to her, as always being bound to his ship, he had sent his father. Bootstrap liked his daughter-in-law, and was hurt when he thought...

He had lived the same thing with his own wife, when, while a slave aboard Jones' _Flying Dutchman_ , he had heard she had passed away.

For it was the heart of the problem.

Seventy years had passed since Will had become the captain of the _Dutchman_. His son was sixty-nine. His daughter was fifty-nine. His grandchildren were all older than he himself looked.

And Elizabeth Turner, Swann by her maiden name, had passed away six years before, at the great age of eighty-five years old. It was already a miracle she had lasted this long.

Elizabeth Turner née Swann was dead.

And Will hadn't been able to visit her grave for six long and painful years.

Captain William Turner went to his children, and hugged them without a word, but his embrace was stiff. Junior and Ann didn't hold it against him. He quickly inquired how they were, how the kids, of all ages, were doing. Will didn't like it when he saw how old and tired his son looked. Junior had stopped going at sea for thirteen years already, and it had been because his wife had threatened him of terrible things if he even went on a single trip around the Caribbean at his age.

Time was running short for everyone, except for Bill and Will, stuck for all eternity on the _Flying Dutchman_ , seeing their family die away and live on at the same time.

Ann et Junior lead him to his wife's grave, and Will stayed behind as they went back inside the house Elizabeth had lived in. He stayed behind, and sat on the very grave of the women he would forever love, and he would have cried, if he had had tears to spill. But for six years now, he had cried every single day, and now he had no tear left.

The grave was made of simple grey stone, but beautifully carved, and Will just sat on it, waiting for the hours to pass by. He gazed at the ocean, behind the grave, and said nothing, for he didn't want to read the words on the grave, to acknowledge them as real.

The ocean and his duty.

Those were the reasons he hadn't been there for his wife's funeral. Those were the reasons he hadn't been there for most of his family's lives. Those were the reasons he would never die, and would never find peace, for he would not force his duty onto anyone else.

He might have been literally heartless, but he was not without feelings. No one should ever have to be the immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , and yet someone had to be. Someone had to live with the fate of the cursed man he was, and of the cursed man Jones had been.

Will might have laughed bitterly, but for that to happen, he would have had to be able to laugh.

Death was his daily routine, and a relief he'd never know, though he had seen so many souls to the afterworld.

Souls he had sometimes known.

How many of his friends, how many legends had he seen pass away at sea, and how many of those had he never gotten to see one last time, for they had died on land?

He had seen Edward Teague's last moments, he had carried Jack Sparrow to the world of the dead, he had missed Hector Barbossa's execution, and he had heard of Joshamee Gibbs' peaceful depart on the lands behind Tortuga, he had taken Anamaria as a crew member when her fishing boat, gracious gift of Jack, had been outnumbered and slaugthered by a pirate crew.

There was no one he knew from before the curse who was still alive out there.

And Elizabeth was dead.

For decades he had lived only thinking of those days next to her.

What was he to live for, now?

It wasn't as if he had a choice, though.

Centuries and millenia and eternity to live through, the undead carrier of the souls of those who had died at sea. He'd live, but without a reason to live.

William sat through the hours, and the day passed. His father came at a point, and he looked at the grave, and he looked at his son, and he said nothing, and he left.

When the sun began to sink into the ocean, he knew his crew was certainly getting nervous, back on the _Dutchman_ , but he couldn't bring himself to go, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He couldn't care less about his duty, and it didn't matter that in a few minutes, he would be on land when he wasn't supposed to.

He didn't know what would happen once the sun would be gone, leaving the day behind.

He didn't know, and he didn't care.

He stayed there, sitting on his wife's grave.

He gazed at the ocean. He couldn't see it. He couldn't see anything. He only gazed, not focused on anything, as the light was getting scarce, as the day was ending in a scarlet shadow.

And from the ocean, an unseen human form looked back at him.

The woman was dripping salted water, and she had dark skin, and matted black hair. She smiled, showing her black painted teeth. But her smile wasn't quite honest.

Calypso didn't like what was going on.

Captain William Turner had always done his duty. He had complained, sure, but never to anyone, only to himself, and if she knew about it, was because she was the ocean, and she heard everything her ferryman muttered to the sea when he couldn't bear it anymore.

Turner complained, sometimes, but he never grudged anyone for his curse. He was only sad, and after a while, he'd sigh and go back to collecting souls. He was much like Davy Jones had once been, for the first ten years, before he had betrayed her and the charge she had given him, so that they'd be together forever, if not often.

William Turner was a good man, faithful to his wife. William Turner was a good captain, fair with his scarce crew and dedicated to his duty. William Turner deserved better than that.

But Calypso couldn't undo the curse, and the only way to free Captain Turner from his charge was to get someone to stab his heart. The _Flying Dutchman_ needed a captain, and not only because she had said so.

The goddess doubted Will Turner still wanted to live, but she also knew he wouldn't let someone else get cursed to be rid of the curse and rejoin his wife in the afterlife.

If the captain stayed there, on land, even after sunset, the rules of his charge would come down on him. William Turner would be sent into his own locker, if he did stay on land, and he'd suffer loneliness and abandonment until he'd be willing to go back to work. And Calypso could do nothing to help, and she could do nothing to punish, and she could do nothing to force him back onto the _Flying Dutchman_.

William Turner...

A touch of destiny.

Captain Will Turner had always been marked for a peculiar destiny, and it wasn't by chance. It wasn't by chance that his father had been bounded, first by the Aztec curse, and then to the _Dutchman_. It wasn't by chance that the Turners were always ones for an extraordinary destiny, even if William Turner had definitely gotten the most extraordinary one out of his family line's.

Calypso could do nothing... but maybe Chronos would be willing to help.

The goddess turned back to look at the sinking sun. She had no time left to waste.

An odd smirk twisted her lips.

No time.

But she was going to buy her ferryman time. He deserved that, at least, and Calypso wasn't a monster, even though she wasn't human. Sometimes she was willing to help people, and not only to drown them.

Her human form was falling apart, into dozens of tiny crabs, and she was going to search for Chronos, but she stopped and went back to a human body.

Turning back towards the shore, Calypso looked at the man standing there.

“You knew already.”

The man looked around fifty, but she knew better. He was old, very old, much older than she was, and he was powerful, very powerful, much more powerful than she was. He could look the age he chose, and if he was known as an old man with black wings and a scythe, he didn't usually walk around like that, as she wasn't roaming the world in her gigantic form.

The man smiled.

“I knew already.”

Even if he looked young, his hair was still white, and he looked wise beyond his years. No surprise here. His clothes were simple but black and clean, and he stood there, on the beach, between Calypso and the cliff on top of which Elizabeth Turner's grave was, the cliff where the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was losing hope once and for all.

“And what do you plan to do?”

Calypso walked out of the water, and stood next to the man.

His brown eyes were nothing remarkable, but they were the exact same shade as those of all the Turners she had seen on her waters, and she knew why. And in those eyes, she could see determination.

“I cannot interfere with mortals' destiny, that is the rule. If the god of time and destiny did, the world would fall apart.”

Chronos turned to watch the dark shape of a grave standing in the evening light.

“I have seen too many of my children walk to their destiny without doing anything to help them. As my descendants, though humans, they always had some sort of incredible fate, and most of the time it was not a happy one. And unlike you gods of the sea or the earth or the sky, I could not even attempt to ease their pain. Now, one of them has even partially escaped my grasp, the grasp of time, if not the grasp of destiny.”

The immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , indeed.

Calypso asked her question again, and Chronos answered, this time, a clear answer.

“William isn't human anymore. Or rather, he is and isn't at the same time. What kind of man can live with his heart anywhere else than in his chest? But human or not, he isn't mortal even if he can be killed. Time will not claim him, and so I can interfere.”

“You will help him?”

The god laughed lightly.

“Do not appear so surprised, Calypso. You knew I would, and that's why you were going to search for me.”

The goddess gave up the pretense, and looked back at the sun, dangerously close to disappear.

“We don't have much time.”

Chronos too looked at the sun, and he frowned.

Everything beside them went still. Time had stopped.

The god of time could easily stop the flow of time for all eternity if he wanted to, but when he did so he had no access to his other powers. After all, it was himself he was stopping when he did that.

“What will you do?”

“Moments past are done for, and even I cannot alter them without changing the future. Doing so will erase everything that happened, except for what has been sent through time. Not even us, gods, will know of what futur had once been ours. But I can send him back in time and hope he will be able to prevent his past self to suffer this very destiny.”

“He will still be cursed, you know that.”

Chronos smiled, and Calypso wondered what exactly it meant. William Turner would certainly not go back to being a mortal human, or the god would be unable to help him, for he couldn't interfere with human destinies. He wouldn't go back as his younger self either. He'd only be there, in two places, present and futur in a single timeline. He'd still have to live for eternity, alone.

Moreover, the Elizabeth Swann he'd meet back would certainly be smitten, as his had been, with the William Turner she'd seen and rescued during their trip from England. She wouldn't be his, not even for a short human life, but his other self's.

“I will be making him one of us, Calypso. He's already halfway there, anyway, and he will be feeling better as a god such as ourselves. Davy Jones being the captain of the Dutchman at the time, Will won't have to be, and the part of the curse that state he can't go on shore except one day every ten years will be nullified. As for his heart...”

And the man looked up at the frozen sky, where stars were silent in a stopped moment.

“His heart is what guarantee his life. Our children were heroes, and our children were brought to the sky at their death. A star can only be fitting for his heart.”

Calypso too looked at the stars above their head, remembering how the chidren of gods and goddesses had always become, at some point, another star in the skies. Demigods, they were, and if William Turner was long estranged from his godly ancestor, through centuries and generations, he was already immortal. He belonged with them, even if he'd only be a lesser god. She wasn't worried about that. He was more likely to stay amongst mortals, at least for the first years, as he'd try to give his other self a better futur.

The goddess brought her hand to her chest, searching for her heartbeat.

Still, Will Turner would be freer than most demigods, able to walk upon the earth as any god, his heart securely left to assure his immortality amongst the stars.

Chronos unfroze time, and shared a look with Calypso. She nodded in aggreement.

The sun finally disappeared behind the sea, but the captain of the _Dutchman_ was already gone.

 


	2. At peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh right, I forgot: I'm french. It's normal if my english isn't perfect. And don't expect me to write strange accents. I'm writing in a language that ain't mine, and I won't write accents.

The sun sank in the sea, but it never went anywhere after that. The sinking itself disappeared, as if it had never happened, because, those were facts: it had never happened. Time was rewritting itself, and the dusk that should have seen Will Turner's conviction did not exist anymore.

Time was disappearing, falling into ruins, as a castle of sand falling upon itself, wistfully trying to stay up, strangely reconstructing itself, only to collapse faster than before. The last eighty years or so erased themselves, letting only one bewildered William Turner in the middle. The man looked around, unsure of what he was seeing, unsure of what was happening. What he knew for certain was that he wasn't sitting on top of his wife's grave anymore. Besides that, he didn't know anything.

Finally, Time settled itself, and Will fell on something that wasn't exactly hard, but that at least feeled earthly. His eyes wide-open, but seeing nothing in the darkness and confusion, he wondered if, maybe, that was his punishment for not going back to his duty, and for staying on shore when he shouldn't have been. He recognized the ground he was laying on to be made of sand, and he remembered his trip to Davy Jones' Locker, years ago. His own locker, as it had become...

Maybe that was it.

Maybe he had been condamned to spend eternity in the locker that should have been under his power.

Or maybe not. Jack had never talked about nightime in the locker. There was a night falling on the the waters off the coast of the locker, he had experienced it himself many time, sending the dead to the afterworld, and even that time, when he had still been mortal. But there was no night upon the locker itself. Jack had been clear about that. A bit repetitive, too, for he had complained days long about the craziness of a supernatural place where the sun never backed away.

Will took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

He then noticed he felt strange.

He was inhumanly sad and hurt over his wife's death, but it wasn't as it had been before his fall into this place. He felt those feelings more than he had at the time, but in a way, it wasn't as unsufferable as before. He felt...

At peace, maybe.

Now he knew he would get over it, and remember the good times with nostalgia, but no longing. Elizabeth would stay in his heart forever and ever, and always he would cherish her memory... But he wouldn't wish he could perish anymore when thinking about her. She wouldn't have wanted that.

After a while, of course. He wasn't quite there yet.

What had triggered this sudden change, after hours of despair, he did not know.

But William was grateful for it.

He opened his eyes, and this time, he was able to see the stary sky. Far to the West, his eyes fell upon a star he was sure he had never seen before, and someway, he felt as if it was something dear to him, something he should have recognized.

Will waited for the night to end before getting up and searching for anything that could tell him where exactly he was. He stayed there, lying on the ground, sand shifting under his body each time he moved a bit, thinking. He thought, and for many other hours, he remembered Elizabeth.

He wished, oh how he wished, that he would have been able to offer her a true life, with no undead pirates, no running away from crazy Lords working for the East Indian Company, no pirate war, and most of all, no undead and forever away husband. He knew he would never have been able to offer her a life such as what it'd have been if she had married amongst her kind. But he could have, more accurately, he should have gifted her so much more than he had been able to.

But he was no fool. No undead pirates, and he would have looked at her as she married the commodore. No crazy Lord, and she'd have searched, at some point, for more adventure. Elizabeth wasn't an outlaw at heart, but she wasn't a housewife either. They'd have fallen back, in the end, into some sort of adventurous life. No undead and forever away husband... well, he'd have been dead, and that was all.

Maybe their love had been doomed from the start, maybe they weren't meant to live happily ever after so easily, but they wouldn't have been happy either if none of that had happened. At least, Elizabeth and him had used what little time had been given to them to its fullest.

To say he wasn't hurting anymore, to say he was happy with this ending was a lie. But he knew, this time, that he'd get over it, and at the same time, that he'd never forget about the wonderful yet desperate love they had shared.

William Turner and Elizabeth Swan had been meant to be, if not to live through it in bliss and ignorance. They would forever be written in the stars.

And Will could now see how beautiful a story it was, and how he couldn't tarnish it with regrets.

Upon these thoughts, somewhat peaceful, somewhat bitter, the night passed away. As the last shadow withered under a shy ray of light, Will hadn't slept at all.

The truth was, he didn't need to. He was an undead, undying man, and sleeping, breathing, eating or drinking were of no necessity to him. He could not do it and still stay alive.

The only thing was, he had no need for it... yet he felt the need. Maybe it was only a reminder of before, of when he had been alive, of when he had been human. But even so, he could ignore the hunger and the thirst, the exhaustion and the suffocation. They weren't really there, after all. He thought they were, but they weren't. And no matter what, if he felt better eating and drinking when he could, if he liked to sleep and rest his mind, if he breathed out of habit more than anything else, he didn't need it.

So, not tired in the slightest, the young man, for that was what he looked like, even if he was nearing a century of age, the young man got on his feet and started looking around.

He was on the beach of a tiny island, tinier even than the one Jack and Elizabeth had been marooned to by Barbossa, years before. It was less of an island than of a cay protruding out of the ocean, in the middle of nowhere, really. There wasn't even a single tree, only a tutf of grass here and there.

Great.

Lost in the middle of nowhere.

With nothing to do.

At least, Will reasoned, it still looked like his world, and maybe, he thought very carefully, in case his hope were to be shattered, maybe he wasn't in some kind of purgatory for ferrymen who stopped doing their duty and dared to break the rules of their curse. Of course, he could be sure of nothing, but well... It surely looked like the real world of the living... So it might be it... Or it could be that it just looked like it.

After all, he was on land for the second day in a row, and nothing had yet tried to have his hide for his cheek, no terrible curse nor horrible beast. That was a bit disturbing, and so maybe he was in some sort of purgatory for cursed slackers.

Or, somehow, he had been freed from his curse.

Which was unlikely, because he had checked, and though he had a pulse, he still had no heart. And he wasn't dead. Not more than before. So he certainly was still cursed, somehow... at least partially.

Will sighed, and gazed back at the sea in front of him. It was either that, or the sand, or a tuft of grass, or the sea behind him, or on his right, or on his left...

His time here was certainly going to be fascinating. Good company, a lot of different activities, a banquet for him only, and... Oh, who was he kidding! He'd be bored out of his mind in less than a week.

For a moment, he considered just walking away from the island, in the water, since he had no trouble breathing underwater, as, you know, he didn't need to breathe. Actually, he could even go at great depths, to the bottom of the ocean, despite the pressure, if he wished to. He was immortal, and nearly indestructible. It wasn't comfortable down there, he knew from experience, but it wouldn't kill him. If he tried, he'd get away with a headache at most.

The thought was tempting, he had to admit. But he had no idea where he was, no idea how far land was, and no idea if he'd even be going in the right direction.

So in the end, Will settled with waiting for a ship to pass by, and perhaps, to pick him up. That is, if the captain didn't jump to conclusions and decided he was pirate because they were the only ones to be marooned on deserted island, and he had no dinghy to make it look like he had survived an attack while his ship had been taken down...

And there was the fact that, as handsome and charming as he was, he was still wearing his usual garb... And if it didn't exactly scream “pirate”, it wasn't the usual crew's attire either.

Looking at himself, the young man tugged on his grey shirt, noticing with annoyance he had a great blot of blood staining it, from when a dying sailor had all but fallen upon him two months before. Despite everything he had tried, the stain hadn't disappeared from the clothes.

Eitherway, he'd say that was from the pirate attack that had fallen upon the ship he had been cruising on.

Now, there was the problem of his scar. He couldn't really walk around with a scar that told anyone who looked closely he should be dead, for it was right on the heart he had not, and it seemed a grave enough wound to have reached said heart he still didn't have.

Will buttoned up his shirt, even if he was feeling quite hot under the carribean sun. That, at least, he was sure of: this sun and this cay were typical of the Carribean.

He then glanced at the sword at his hip, and groaned.

He couldn't pass for a naval officer, not matter how hard he tried, and this sword was Norrington's. It had written “so-not-for-the-lowly-being-he-apparently-was” all over it, and worst, if someone got their hands on it, they'd noticed the filigree and well...

Right, so, he was a blacksmith, which was true, who had been sailing to his new home from England, which had been true at a time though not exactly in this order, and whose ship had been attacked, which once again wasn't an outright lie. He had jumped overboard and washed up here, which was a lie, with nothing but his life and the blade he had made for an officer of the Navy who had died before he had the opportunity to deliver his order, which was more or less the truth, timeline excepted.

The young man guessed it was a convincing enough story, though he'd have to figure out which ship exactly he could have been sailing on. If he was supposed to come from England, it couldn't be a lowly boat, and the Navy would know if he gave the name of a ship that didn't exist, or hadn't been attacked lately.

Oh, well, he'd just have to “forget” it for a time, say he wasn't sure how many time he had spent on the island, and pick up a name afterward, if ever they thought to ask again.

He went to comb his hair with his fingers, and touched the worn fabric of his headscarf. He had forgotten about this, and it would do him no good if someone saw him wearing it. Once undone, Will looked at the worn tissue and wondered what to do with it. He didn't feel like throwing it away, for he was a bit short on supplies here. Eventually, he tied it in a knot on his left arm.

He knew he didn't exactly look like a castaway, and he certainly looked way to healthy for someone who had spent days on a deserted island, but he couldn't force himself to look agonizing, could he?

Will sighed, and sat back on the sand.

Now, he could only wait and dwell on his loss, once again.

Planning his rescue had been a good enough way of forgetting, but it hadn't lasted.

Time went by, and soon enough, the sun was high in the sky. Will guessed it was around three o'clock, and he thanked the heavens he would never again get sunburns. He also promised himself that, when the night would come, he'd try to locate the ridiculously tiny island by looking at the stars. He hadn't during the preceding night, too preoccupied with what had happened, and the mystery of his being on land and not suffering a thousand deaths or whatever.

The carribean weather was torture, right under the sun in the mid of the day, and Will was acquainting himself once again with boredom and stifling heat. At some point, he started looking pointedly at the sun, ignoring stubbornly the pain as he lost his sight and healed at the same time. That was a bad habit he had developed after a few years of super-accelerated healing and supersized depression.

It'd have been stupid and dangerous if he hadn't been immortal and supernaturaly fast at healing, but as he was both, it was just a stupid, pointless game where he challended the star to take his sight during long minutes before getting bored and stopping the foolishness.

So he was busy staring intently at the sun when white sails appeared on the horizon.

A large and powerful and uncannily familiar ship sailed towards the West, and at some point, the man in the crow's nest spotted a dark form on a cay in the middle of the ocean. He squinted, unsure of what he was seeing, but there was no mistaking it, it was a man lying on the beach there, all alone, no boat, no tree, nothing at all except this man.

The alert was soon given, and the ship changed course a bit, to get closer to the island and send a dinghy to retrieve the man. The shipwreck they had come across the night before, and the sole survivor, were on everyone's mind. They had traveled quite a bit since the evening, but who knew, maybe the pirate crew, for even if they all denied it, that had definitely been a pirate attack, had taken prisoners and marooned those who had nothing to offer. Not the usual _modus operandi_ , but still possible, and well, there was a man alone in the middle of the ocean, and he certainly hadn't swum all the way here.

When Will heard the telltale sound of oars on water, he had closed his eyes and almost drifted to sleep. Startled, he got up and blinked at the dinghy coming his way. His gaze then went to the dark shape of a great ship a bit further away.

“Well, it haven't been so long a wait, then...”

It had been so short he still didn't believe his luck. The only person he knew who had been found faster than him after being marooned was Elizabeth, but she had had rum and trees to burn, and half the Royal Navy in the Carribean looking for her, so it didn't count.

The young man shifted a bit as he recognized the colours of the men in the dinghy, but he stayed where he was. Even if he had wanted to run away, he was a bit stuck on this very-too-tiny island. The best he could have done would have been hiding behind a tuft of grass. Not very efficient, to say the least.

Not a problem. He wasn't a pirate.

Not really, at least. Not anymore, if he had ever been. The worst they could charge him with was... Right. Freeing a well known pirate. Commandering the _Interceptor_. Running away from the Navy, not that anyone would resent him for that when they were hell bent on hanging him for no reason. Being a part of a pirate war with the East Indian Company. Sinking the _Endeavour_. And, being a supernatural occurrence, not that he could do much about it, but they generally didn't like the supernatural.

He couldn't blame them for that, really.

Well, he just had to hope they wouldn't recognize him.

If Will had been less busy ferrying souls to the afterworld during the last decades, he'd have noticed the change in the world. But he had been busy, and hadn't quite noticed. It kind of marked him, how there was something strange about the uniforms, how he hadn't seen any of those for some time already, but he still didn't quite register that the men weren't wearing the nineteenth century uniform, but the ones from when he had been alive.

A soldier stepped out of the dinghy, his flintock musket pointed at the obviously marooned man on the beach. Said man had a sword at his hip, but he held his hands above his head, as if expecting some sort of mistrust, and while it proved his good will, the soldier wondered why exactly the man seemed used to these kind of situations.

“What are you doing here? Were you perhaps on the merchant ship from London that has been attacked yesterday?”

Will blinked at the question, surprised once again with his luck. Not only there had been an attack not far from there, but the soldier had been kind enough to tell him exactly what he needed without realizing it.

“Erm... Yes. I... I was going to the Carribean to start again there, and... Well... You know...”

He couldn't have been more vague, but the soldier lowered his flintlock musket. The men let him onto the dinghy, and they rowed back to the ship in awkward silence. Will watched the ship as they got closer, and he felt a bit uneasy, as if he knew that ship, but it shouldn't have been there. He didn't get to see its name, it being back to the sun. As he got onto the ship, someone asked him for his name. The young man helped himself on deck and looked up.

“Will...”

Will stopped there, pale as death as he looked at the young boy sitting on a barrel.

 


	3. Wilhem Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will change his name more or less skillfully

That was simply not possible.

How could it be possible?

It clearly couldn't.

Yet it was.

Will stared at the young boy sitting on a barrel, a bit further away. He stared at him so long he didn't even register when the person from before asked him his name once again. It was only when another voice called him out that Will snapped out of it. He quickly searched for a name that could go with “Will” but wasn't “William Turner”.

“Wilhem Carter, sir. My name is Wilhem Carter.”

Not exactly the best he could have come up with, but the best he could come up with right now, right here. It surely sounded a bit too much like his name, like the boy's name, but well... He could have done better if he hadn't already told Norrington his name started with “Will”.

Will gulped, shifted on his feet, and looked back at the lieutenant.

Norrington.

The man was younger than Will remembered, and he was wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, but it was Norrington. Those green eyes were unmistakable. Will mused that the man looked way younger without the wig he used to wear as captain and commodore, even if he had styled his brown hair. Of course, the lieutenant was as stiff as he had always been, or would likely be. All in all, there was no mistaking it.

Whatever had happened, Will had before him a lieutenant James Norrington, alive, and one around twenty-two years old at that.

And a living Norrington wasn't half of the bloody problem his brain had to deal with.

James arched an eyebrow as he looked over the man they had picked up from the cay of sand.

Wilhem Carter, as he had called himself, was a young man in his twenties. He looked too clean and proper to be a pirate, James had to give it to him, but he didn't exactly look like a merchant or even a sailor. The lieutenant really had no idea what to do with their new passenger, because he had no idea what exactly the man was. That was suspicious, no doubt.

“Wilhem Carter? And I hear you were on the same ship as young William Turner here?”

Will winced slightly as Norrington made a sign to the boy on the barrel to come over. There were too many Wills around here, surrely. Fortunately for him, the lieutenant was too busy eyeing the great blood stain on his shirt to notice what was going on on his face.

The boy came shyly, half-hidden behind a girl the same age as he was. Will couldn't help but to stare at him, for the boy was him, only, younger, more innocent, less destroyed than he was. William the younger had already lost their mother, and he had survived a pirate attack. Moreover, their life had never been easy even when they had lived in Glasgow. But Will the younger still was a child. He hadn't suffered half what his older counterpart had had to endure during the nine decades of his life.

And the girl...

The girl was Elizabeth.

Will gulped before tearing his eyes away from the wife he had just been sitting on the grave of, while now she was only a ten years old little girl.

He forced his eyes back on Norrington, because, between his past-self, the girl who had been his wife in another life, a drunken Gibbs next to where Will the younger had been sitting, and the lieutenant, Norrington was the one who made his heart hurt the least. Him, and all the sailors he had met as a boy, but of whom he didn't remember much. And since Norrington was the one interrogating him...

“The boy might not remember me, I spent a good part of the trip in the crow's nest, as the lookout fell ill and I, while being a blacksmith, am rather accustomed with sailing because of my father. But yes, I was on the _Eleanor's Jewel_ with him. The pirates saw this sword, and thought I might have some valor as a ransom. When they understood they were wrong, they left me to die here... They were so angry they even forgot to keep the sword.”

As he talked, Will handed the commodore's sword to said commodore, even if the man still was only a lieutenant, and damn, that was getting confusing... He only hoped Norrington wouldn't take a closer look and notice the initials on the handle of the weapon. Sure enough, the lieutenant wasn't the only man in the world whose initials were J. N., but still...

James took the sword carefully, admiring its beauty and perfect balance. He frowned at the gold filigree, for it looked quite a lot like a ceremonial sword's... but looked up before his eyes fell onto his own initials engraved in the golden hilt.

“Blacksmith... An order you were delivering, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately, the soon-to-be-promoted commodore was killed in battle a few days before his promotion. The order fell flat, and I found myself with an unpaid and ridiculously expensive sword. I thought I'd better keep it for now”.

The lieutenant handed the sword back, gauging the plausibility of such a story being true. It was rather unfortunate, but it wasn't impossible. The man could very well be saying the truth.

Still, James thought as he looked at this stranger once again, this Wilhem Carter seemed more than a mere blacksmith. His work told he was a good swordsmith, an excellent one, even, and James desperately wanted a sword like this one if he ever made it to commodore, but there was something more. The man seemed... otherworldly, almost. There was something calm about him, and at the same time, powerful, dangerous, even. Alluring.

But not malevolent.

James motioned for the young William Turner to get out of Miss Swann's shadow. Personally, he thought the girl's devotion to her charge was admirable, and the boy's admiration for his savior adorable. The lieutenant hoped, though, that it wouldn't go on, and more than anything else, that it wouldn't go any further. Will Turner would be lucky if an artisan took him as an apprentice, and he certainly wouldn't be allowed anywhere near Miss Elizabeth Swann.

The boy came closer, once again, as the young miss pushed him with encouraging words.

“Your name's 'Will' too?”

Will nodded, ill-at-ease as he explained to no one else than his younger self that they hadn't exactly the same first name, but that, yes, his too was usually shortened to “Will”. Of course, they really had the same names, but it would have been confusing, and highly suspicious, so he wasn't going to explain any time soon that he had lied about it.

James thought about leaving them alone to talk and get acquainted. Wilhem Carter had given the right name for the ship he had supposedly been sailing, a good enough excuse for his lack of acquaintance with William Turner, and his freezing as he had seen the boy for the first time wasn't difficult to explain. He certainly hadn't expected the young Will to be alive, and had recognized him on the spot because he had had a lot of time to observe the _Eleanor's Jewel_ 's passengers and crew from the crow's nest. There was no reason to be wary of him, and he certainly could delay a bit a more thorough interrogation.

But as soon as the thought entered his brain, the boy said something that startled the lieutenant, and curiosity won out over privacy.

“You look just like my father.”

Will coughed at that. He certainly didn't remember remembering his father's face when he had been ten years old. Then again, it had been more than eighty years ago, and he had been very young at the time.

Damn his old man for looking just like him. Even if it was more like he was the one resembling his father than the other way around.

“Does he?”

Will forced himself to look at Elizabeth and put on a faked smile. It was the first time she really spoke since he had been onboard, and each word she said, each look she gave him was a painful reminder of what he had lost.

“Maybe I do. But if I'm sure of anything, it's that I'm too young to be your father, Will.”

And he joked a bit about that, as his younger self explained how he was searching for his father, who was a honest sailor, now that his mother had died and he had no one else to look after him. If possible, hearing about it, hearing his past enthousiasm at being reunited with his father, hearing young Will's trust in the future was even more painful than looking at the child that had grown to become his wife and the Pirate King.

He knew the boy wouldn't find their father, who wasn't that honorable to begin with, because he was a bloody pirate. After all, the man was at the bottom of the ocean, or maybe already enslaved on the _Flying Dutchman_.

Because yes, Will was starting to slowly accept that he had been thrown back in time or something similar, and that meant everything could be changed. Even his fate. And that also explained, he guessed, why he could walk on land again, and why he wasn't growing tentacles, even if he wasn't doing his duty. Jones was still the captain of the vessel of the dead.

“Well, then, I'm sorry, but I can tell I haven't met him. If I had, I'd certainly have noticed such resemblance. Still, I rarely sailed far away from the old continent, so it's normal we havent met, I guess...”

While the man entertained the two children, James found himself smiling a bit. They'd certainly try to find something to do onboard for Carter, but the man deserved to have this day off, after all he had lived through during the last hours.

The lieutenant watched them, and as he did this, he couldn't help but notice how right the boy had been. Even if he didn't know Will Turner senior, and thus couldn't compare, James could see the features both Carter and the young Turner had. Same hair color, same eyes, same smile. Sure, Carter was a bit more tan than the boy, but he was also an adult with a work and who had spent days under the terrible sun of the ocean.

They really looked alike.

Finally the children grew tired of all this, and went back to Gibbs who immediately went back to telling stories to the kids, no doubt filling their heads with superstitions and legends of the sea.

James was about to ask the man to come with him, so that they could maybe manage to get a clue about the ship that had raided theirs, but Carter was quicker, and as soon as the children were out of hearing range, he asked if they could talk. He had a worried look on his face.

The lieutenant led him to the captain's quarters, who surely wanted to hear what the marooned man had to say for himself.

Will knew he might just be about to make his other self's life impossible, but he had to tell the captain. Ultimately it would be safer and better for everyone if they listened to him, instead of, say, clapping him in irons. He just had to hope Norrington and his captain were sensible enough not to blame a father's crimes on a child's head.

Norrington pushed open a door and they found themselves in the master cabin.

The captain was a man in his forties, grey eyes and blond untamed hair escaping from under a white wig, and the usual uniform of a captain. He sat at a large desk with a map spread on it.

“Sir, I brought you the man we picked up on the island. He says his name is Wilhem Carter.”

The captain looked up from his map, his expression lightening as he did so. He liked it when they found castaways or survivors, not because it meant there had been a pirate attack and people had died, but because despite the odds, one person or more had been saved _in extremis_. He couldn't make evil disappear from this world, the captain had learned it the hard way, but he could help lessen it.

“Wilhem Carter, is it? I am the captain Charles Portwell of the British Royal Navy. Take a seat.”

Will went warily to the offered chair, but he stayed standing next to it as he felt he wasn't really the kind of person who should sit with such people. That, and his clothes weren't exactly clean too.

The young man still remembered the captain from the first time he had been in this situation. Portwell had tried to get clues out of him, but he had been too busy hiding during the attack to notice much. All he had been able to tell the man was that the pirate ship had been dark and in dire need of repair, and some pirates had called out to their “captain Barbossa”. This time around, his younger counterpart had certainly given the captain the exact same information. And as one who had been kept prisonner aboard the _Pearl_ , “Wilhem Carter” could only have more information than the frightened boy.

“I appreciate your kindness, captain, but I'd rather stay standing.”

Portwell seemed surprised at his refusal, but he said nothing about it.

Before the captain could even ask anything else, Will took a deep breath, as if searching for reassurance that he was doing the right thing. He started carressing the hilt of his sword by rote, not even aware that he was doing it.

Standing behind him, James frowned as he watched the gesture. It could have appeared menacing, if Carter hadn't been gently brushing his fingers over the golden handle instead of preparing to draw it any moment. No, it wasn't threatening, but it seemed that the blacksmith had had this sword at his hip for quite a long time, if he had such an habit and wasn't even conscious of it. Carter had not only kept the sword, but he had kept it with him often enough... But why? A blacksmith hardly needed such a weapon...

“They were searching for someone when they attacked the _Eleanor's Jewel_ , sir.”

Portwell straightened in his armchair, suddenly tense. Behind Will, Norrington gritted his teeth in anticipation. If they could get even a hint of what the pirates wanted, maybe they could outrace them next time such an opportunity to get it happened.

“Have you heard them talk about it?”

“They interrogated me. They wanted to know if he was on the ship, yes or no. They hadn't found him, despite their efforts, and they wondered whether he had drowned or if, maybe, he hadn't been there to begin with. They said he had something they wanted, something they needed. If he wasn't on the _Eleanor's Jewel_ , then they still had a chance to get what they wanted.”

The tension in the room was palpable. The two Navy men were wondering what exactly the pirates had wanted, and if it was just something their captain had taken a liking to or if it was actually something important. They certainly didn't want some intel to fall between the wrong hands, and there could actually have been some military or political man travelling unknown aboard the _Jewel_ , or something like that.

“Do you know who or what exactly they were searching for?”

Will winced, and decided to use Pintel and Ragetti for his own benefit. After all, the men had surely been all too content to go after him, not even a day before.

“There were those two pirates, not very bright, one with a wooden eye, and they were pretty talkative. When the captain understood I was no good for ransom, they started blabbering about what would maybe be done with me. To tell you the truth, I was lucky to only be marrooned on a desert island. They had... interesting ideas. Anyway, they started by telling me how I was on the _Black Pearl_ , that had been Jack Sparrow's ship until his crew mutinied under his first mate, Barbossa, apparently thinking their captain was too much of a pacifist, and how one of the sailor didn't agree with the mutiny and sent away something very important, to his son, something they absolutely needed, to punish them. They crudely threw him overboard, tied to a cannon to make sure he wouldn't make it out.”

Portwell winced at that. Even if the man had been a pirate, that was cruel. Besides, the two soles kind-of-honorable pirates on this ship had been the ones to suffer. While the Navy captain still didn't like pirates, he knew there were different kind of pirates, and Barbossa and his crew definitely were the worst. If he had had to pick a side, he'd have taken Sparrow's and the unnamed crew member's.

James, on the other hand, wasn't very touched by the story, not that it had been told in a touching way. But he shivered as he pictured the mutinous crew doing exactly the same thing to the blacksmith, who had not asked to be taken away in the first place. Being marooned on a desert island wasn't so bad, considering...

“I guess the pirate's son was on the _Eleanor's Jewel_?”

Will turned to look at Norrington, having almost forgotten about his presence in the cabin.

“He was. And no, he didn't know about what his father actually did for a living or what was the item, maybe he didn't evenhave it with him. He should not be held accountable for his father's crimes, because it has nothing to do with him, and, for god's sake, he's only a child. I'm telling you only because it'd be preferable for him if he didn't sail ever again. You try to hang him or whatever because of his father, and I will come after you. Will Turner and his father are two different people.”

 


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potatoes, an enemy, and children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, I guess you've noticed, but I often change points of view even if I keep using the third person. So, just to be clear about Will and Will:
> 
> To other people, older Will will be: "Wilhem", "Carter", "the young man", and similars.  
> To younger Will, older Will will be: "Carter" at first, then "Will" because he knows he's not talking about himself as Dobby does.  
> When there's no particular point of view, older Will is "Will", "the young man", "the former captain", etc.
> 
> To other people, younger Will will be: "William", "Will", "Turner", "the Turner boy", and similars.  
> To older Will, younger Will will be; "the boy", "his past/younger/other self", "Will" because he too knows he's not talking about himself as Dobby does.  
> When there's no particular point of view, younger Will is "the young boy", "the orphan", "Will the younger", "Will's other self", and later "the young blacksmith", etc.
> 
> I can't say that's exclusive. I'm trying to be understandable, but there maybe moments when it'll be difficult. If there's a whole passage or a chapter that too confusing, don't fear to say it. If I read it and think the same, or if there's more than one person who complain, I'll try to fix it. But of course, that's the danger when sending people back to their own past, and I certainly won't call them "Will 1 and Will 2", it'd be atrocious.  
> I hope it won't be too confusing.

James' first reaction had been to grip the hilt of his sword, when Carter had told them the boy they had rescued was the son of a pirate. But that reaction had lasted no more than one second.

He had seen Will Turner live for a whole day aboard the _Dauntless_ , and the boy had been only one thing: shy. Piracy apparently wasn't in blood, though similar personalities could be seen from one member of a family to another. With the proper upbringing, the boy would maybe be a good man once adult. After all, from the story they had just been told, his father hadn't been the worst kind of pirate and had had some kind of loyalty, if no honor...

Maybe, if he kept an eye on the boy, James could make an honorable man out of him. A pity, though, that the young Turner should better be kept away from the sea.

James blinked as he realized he was being worried about the boy.

Of course, it was perfectly understandable to be interested by the immediate well-being of a child who had just escaped a pirate attack, but that wasn't quite the same thing. If he didn't get his act together now, he'd soon find himself caring. And that was out of the question.

It wasn't that he was heartless or wanted to be so. He simply couldn't afford to care for a boy he'd get to see only once in a while, if Will Turner even stayed in Port Royal. He wasn't well-off enough to take care financially of an orphan, he wasn't willing to be emotionally bound to someone he had no ties to, and he simply wasn't supposed to take a liking to some random boy. People might get ideas, and he certainly didn't want to be hanged for being soft-hearted. It'd be quite insightly.

But why...?

His eyes flickered to Wilhem Carter, and he instantly knew why he was being so drawn to the boy. Somehow, the man's protectiveness of the boy was rubbing on him. For a strange reason, he felt compelled to agree with Carter. The man's words reached him like no one else's did.

Still, why was Carter reacting so strongly to William Turner's fate? They didn't know each other, and yet, the man had gone as far as to threaten two Navy officials for the boy's sake. It was something a father, or a brother, would have done, not a perfect stranger. But Carter was too young to be Turner's father, and anyway, the boy would have said something if he was a family member.

But that aside, how had they gone from story-telling to threats, exactly?

James sighed, and decided to ignore what had just happened. The captain seemed to be unfazed, and so he saw no reason to complain. Carter had uttered a threat, right, but he hadn't done anything threatening.

But if he wondered why Carter was so taken with the boy, the lieutenant failed to wonder why he was himself so interested in what the man thought... He could feel a desire to protect in the man, and he certainly knew that feeling, hell, it was the exact reason he was in the Navy, but that surely wasn't enough for him to take Carter's side instinctly?

Was it?

If it was...

Then why was it?

Then again, all those questions, James failed to ask them. He could tell there was something, in the back of his mind, that was nudging him to think about it, but he couldn't figure what the “it” was. He felt there was something he didn't get about the man, but he couldn't tell what.

So for now, he put these thoughts aside.

Those were his thoughts as he walked Carter back to the deck.

Will, on the other hand, hadn't missed how Norrington was staring at him, and for a time he wondered if he had done something wrong or said something suspicious.

That is, something else that was suspicious and that he hadn't already recognized as such.

Because for now, he had been pretty suspiscious, and even worst, aware of it.

But it wasn't his fault if he had landed with his very own past self and had been quite shocked by this unexpected turn of event, was it? Not that he had ever expected to be thrown back into time either, mind you. And he had discovered both facts at the same time. So he had every right to have messed up a bit.

He only hoped he hadn't messed up too much.

The crew let him rest for the day, and even if he didn't exactly need resting time, Will was grateful for it.

The evening came, the sun sank in the sea, the night took over the sky, and then went away to let the world and its worries reveal themselves to daylight once again.

The next day, Norrington had found him something to do while aboard, and Will gladly accepted the offer, because he wasn't sure he could stand to see his young self following Elizabeth shyly all day long. Not yet, at least.

So Will was sitting on a stool, and wondered about how much time had passed since he had last peeled potatoes.

He wasn't so sure, but as he looked critically to the potatoes next to him and what he had done to them, he could tell it had been quite some time. He hadn't exactly done a bad job of it, and the potatoes looked quite decent. But he wasn't really happy with himself for all that. Considering the cook hadn't sneered at him for almost half an hour, it was most likely all right, and yet he had already cut himself thrice in the process.

The first time he had stared dumbly at the blood coloring the potato he was holding red and then at the wound that was already closing itself. He hadn't cooked for years, as he had had no need to, and a good enough cook aboard the _Dutchman_ , and he had forgotten how to be cautious with a knife when cooking.

Funny, considering he was doing so fine with any kind of blades when fighting.

William Turner, possibly-former/future/whatever-captain-of-the- _Flying_ - _Dutchman_ , defeated by a kitchen knife and a bunch of potatoes.

He had snapped out of it, though, when the cook had called him out, and he had hidden the reddened potato under the others, hoping it would dry enough to go unnoticed when the cook would use them. He wasn't feeling ready to explain anyone how he had hurt himself without having any wound left.

Will didn't intend to tell anyone he was immortal, or close to being it, eitherway. Nor that he had travelled back from the future. Or that cursed pirates, krakens and the locker were real, for that matter. He'd just shut up about the whole supernatural thing, and, hopefully, no one would ask him. He didn't fancy hanging or burning in a witch trial. He fancied it even less as to his knowledge, he wouldn't die of it, and simply suffer until his executionner understood he was still alive and then...

Bad news, very bad news if it came to this.

And that meant, no passing through objects or teleporting in full sight of people. If he could still do that. Could he?

In this time, Jones was the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , and ferryman of the dead. William had always assumed many of his powers came from his position, as a way to make the task possible. But he still was immortal, while Jones was still alive, and he didn't have his heart. He healed as fast as before. So what had come from being captain, and what was due to being undead?

Will would have to test his past abilities, once alone again. He didn't want them to activate on instinct if he found himself in a tight spot and give him away because he wasn't prudent enough.

What were they, again?

Calling to the dead for help, though not enslaving them. Jones had never done that, because no soul had wanted to help him. If he had, they would have been in deep shit back then. Very, very deep and stinking shit. Might have more to do with the position of ferryman than with his nature as an undead being.

Travel back and forth to the land of the dead. Being undead himself, it was possible he could still do that, but Will didn't believe he could bring anything or anyone with him anymore. He could pass, and the _Flying Dutchman_ could pass, but the captain wasn't the one allowing the ship to pass, only the one maneuvering her. The _Dutchman_ was a ghost ship, and he was a living dead.

Control of the locker. Unlikely, because it was still Jones', and so the captain's. And if he had been able to, Will wouldn't have used it. A territory war over an infinite desert wasn't something he wanted to happen.

Teleport and passing through material things. Possible. After all, Jones had been able to do that not only on the _Dutchman_ , but about everywhere he could go. And it looked more like something to do with being dead-like, and so ghost-like.

A disturbing ability to get sea monsters to obey him, if they didn't threw him against a rock first. Will wasn't sure about that one, then again, he wasn't sure about any of his other abilities. And he didn't care. It wasn't as if he was going to search for sea monsters.

And, of course, recognizing haunted things at first glance. That, he could say for sure he still was able to do it. After all, he was dead/undead/immortal/a freak/whatever, one foot in Death's realm.

If the ominous glare the _Dauntless_ ' cat was giving him right now was anything to go by, said cat knew it too. Will squinted at the ship's cat and pursed his lips.

The animal had been watching him as if he was a rat for more than an hour. Will didn't like it at all.

But as he was glaring at the damned cat, and as he was still peeling potatoes, the inevitable happened. He felt something cold and hard break the skin of his left forefinger. Will winced and looked at his hand. His knife wasn't where it was meant to be, he could say that much.

The young man removed the blade from his flesh once more, while glancing at the cook, luckily too busy swearing at his saucepan to notice anything else. The wound closed. Will sighed and put the potato he had been peeling under others. He definitely had to stop thinking and just do what he had been told, or his luck would ran out very soon.

Of course, his determination to concentrate on his task and not let anything unnatural happen didn't last long.

A low hissing came from the damned cat, who was now staring at his bloodied finger as if it had seen the devil itself performing some dark magic ritual involving skinned kittens.

Will muttered something about it all being because of the dratted animal distracting him, and the blasted thing hissed louder, its ears flattened against its head. The cat apparently didn't like being criticized by a man who oozed death and power just by being here, though Will didn't know that. If he had, maybe he wouldn't have been so worried about Norrington watching him, it being because the lieutenant wasn't an idiot and had subconsciously understood there was something different with him, something not quite human, and not because he was suspecting him of felony.

Or maybe he'd have been twice as worried, no one could tell.

Will tried to go back to peeling potatoes, but the cat had other ideas. It kept hissing at a safe distance, eyeing the frightening being warily in case it would try something. The cat was a guardian of this ship, and it wasn't going to accept just anyone on her. And that particular castaway was not normal, and so, suspicious as hell. It wasn't going to leave him alone as long as it wasn't sure he meant no harm to the crew or the passengers.

At some point, even the cook noticed something was off and turned to look at Carter, wondering what exactly was going on for the cat to behave like that. But he saw nothing, except Carter peeling potatoes and ignoring the cat, so he frowned and went back to insulting the soup in whispers.

As soon as the cook looked back at his saucepan, Will turned violently to the offending animal and glared at it with all his might. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't just a glare, and something happened.

Nothing much, really.

Nothing worth troubling one's mind about, in fact, something really harmless.

But something strange enough to one who didn't know what was going on. Cat, and William Turner included in that group, for the young man hadn't intended to do anything like that.

Simply, a wave of raw power and sheer intimidation shook the cat when their eyes met, and the animal leapt away in fear, before scurrying out of the ship's kitchen.

Will blinked blankly after that, not sure of what exactly had just happened.

Then he shrugged it off and went back to work. Peeling potatoes was the perfect thing to do if he wanted to keep his mind away from the important questions about his very uncertain future. So he peeled potatoes for the rest of the day.

Two people, though, had seen the mad race of the ship's cat out of the kitchen. These people had then taken a look to see if anything in the room could have been the reason of the frantic escape, but all they had seen was a blinking Carter with a potato in his hand. They had shared a curious look, before going back on deck. Elizabeth had had a book with her, having taken upon herself to teach the young Will how to read. But of course, the lesson soon turned into the development of rather intriguing hypotheses, and the children decided they'd stalk Wilhem Carter from tomorrow onwards.

If Will had known how it was all about to turn out, he'd have cursed the damned cat to another realm in seven languages. Yes, because you have to pick up some words, especially insults, when you deal with the souls of people from all over the world. He spoke french, japanese and turkish rather well, for some of his crew had been speaking those languages, and knew a bit of spanish, italian, russian, chinese and arabic. And he certainly could swear in any living language existing.

The next morning, when Will got up and went to the deck to see if there was anything he could do, because he had already peeled enough potatoes for three days, the children were up and awake, and waiting for him.

They first walked around the deck, circling him as if they were vultures, all that while trying to look innocent. Well, Elizabeth tried to do that. Will the younger was simply hiding in her shadow, more inconspicuous and timid than ever, even if it wasn't very effective because Elizabeth wasn't discreet at all.

Then, when Gibbs went towards Will to speak with him about one thing or another, the children simply tagged along and listened intently to anything that was said. Gibbs sat on a barrel, and Elizabeth, still a girl of good upbringing, kept standing, but both Wills sat on the deck as they had nothing to do.

It turned out Gibbs was wondering what exactly Will knew about sailing. The young man didn't tell him half of the truth, because he felt he couldn't explain seven decades of experience, but he still made himself look quite accomplished. It wasn't a lie, and some people started sailing very young. In his case, it certainly seemed odd, because he couldn't have been training to be a blacksmith and sailing at the same time, but he couldn't tell Gibbs he had no idea how to do a fisherman's bend and then be seen doing it without thinking, which was bound to happen before the end of the trip.

When the sailor started telling stories instead of checking the ropes, Will knew he was doomed: his younger self had somehow managed to sit on his lap without him noticing he was becoming an armchair, not before it was too late.

This little boy on his lap was so shy and terrified. The young man had seen the younger himself, and more, he had lived it, years before, keeping away from most of the crew and soldiers. It wasn't that they were mean or particularly frightening, but most of them weren't exactly polite and comforting. The boy was still thinking of the attack, he knew it.

And the fact that his younger self was trusting him enough and using him as a sitting chair was somehow making Will feel better. He had had no one to do that, no father, no mother left to comfort him after he had seen death so closely. He had clung to Elizabeth, and Will the younger surely was doing the same thing, but he was also trusting another person, and that was important.

Even if the other person was himself.

Well, at least Will knew this person would never will do any harm to the boy, seeing as the person was him and the boy was him too.

Confusing, wasn't it?

No matter. If he was to be a brotherly figure to this still fragile Will, he would be. Or at least, for some time. As the boy would become a teenager, and then a man, Will knew he'd have to be there less often. They'd look exactly the same, and he wouldn't age. Staying would be suspicious...

Unless...

Not the right time.

Will stroked the boy's hair absent-mindedly, as Gibbs started talking about tales and tails. Mermaids... It had been a while since he had last seen one. Will watched the kids. They were listening with wide eyes and weren't paying attention to anything else. He smiled.

A few meters away, Norrington was observing the two men and the children. Carter had gained the trust of the Turner boy awfully fast, and maybe it'd be better if he asked him to keep an eye on the children from now on. He seemed very gifted with that.

As for himself, James thought he'd better keep on eye on Carter. The man was too much of a mystery to be left alone.

 


	5. Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will and Will are adorable... I want a hug... please...

Will ended up watching over Elizabeth and Will the younger at Norrington's request. He couldn't say he wasn't pleased because as always, Elizabeth was fun to be with, and he got to see his other self open up a bit, gradually for sure, but still way faster than he had himself done.

No, he wasn't upset by the decision, but he had to admit that his new task had some disadvantages.

Once already he had had to keep the kids from falling overboard, for Elizabeth was eager to learn everything she could, so eager she had climbed in the ropes and unsurprisingly fallen as she had tried to get a better view of the _Dauntless_ , and without surprise, his younger self had hurried to catch her, only managing to grab her ankle and get himself half over the rail. In fear, Will had teleported himself from two meters away right to them, and pulled them back up. Luckily, the sailors had been too busy worrying and hurrying to the children, and hadn't noticed a thing.

Well, now he knew he could still teleport himself anywhere he could see.

But if that supernatural incident hadn't had repercussions, another one had. The blood stain from when his arms had rubbed against the rail was still visible, and yet the young man had no apparent wounds. Left, that is. Everybody had then fussed over the children, wondering if they had been the ones to be wounded, but except a couple of bruises for the boy and a swollen ankle and a bump on her head for the girl, they had been alright.

Now, everyone was pondering what could have happened.

“Maybe it's a stain from the last battle, like, we forgot to clean this place?”

“Of course not, it was two months ago, idiot! Forget not seeing it, it'd be all dried up by now if that was it. No, someone must have been wounded and not told about it, last night or something.”

“Yeah, right, but do you see anyone wounded here?”

The sailors bickered for a while, and Will sighed deeply, despairing to have some time alone and remove the godforsaken splinter of wood that had made its way into his arm and had stayed there as he had healed. It was hurting, unpleasant, and completely undeserved.

Gibbs muttered something under his breath about ghosts and deities, before sending a dark and pointed look to Carter, who shifted uneasily and turned on his heels to check on the chidren, as if he had something to hide.

James observed the whole scene, perplexed. The governor was scolding his daughter not to get up in the cordage ever again, and the yound Miss just listened to her father, a stubborn look on her face. Will Turner was quiet and likely trying to erase himself from the world, as if it was all his fault. The lieutenant hesitated for one second, then made a move to tell the boy he had done nothing wrong, and he had even saved Miss Swann, so he shouldn't feel that way.

Wilhem Carter was there before James even got the chance to approach the boy. The lieutenant backed away, leaving the two Wills to discuss the event alone.

So James, with nothing better to do, went to have a look at the blood stain that was everyone's latest topic of conversation. He bent over the rail, and touched the red liquid with the tip of one finger. Sure enough, the thing was fresh. He glanced over at Carter, puzzled.

But no, the young man didn't have any wound, hidden or not. He was scratching his left forearm, but that was all.

Someone came next to the lieutenant to look at the blood too. The man mumbled under his breath, and James looked sideway to discover Joshamee Gibbs, glaring darkly at the blood stain.

“I say that's not normal, mark my word. There's something fishy about the castaway, and that has nothing to do with piracy...”

Gibbs was obviously not talking for James to hear, or he'd have talked louder. So the lieutenant simply ignored him. After all, Gibbs had this habit to add “mark my words” every three sentences each time he thought a situation doubtful and supernatural.

What he couldn't ignore, though, was the fact that Gibbs was suspicious of Carter.

Gibbs was a bit paranoid, and always jumping on the supernatural explanations, true. But he was doubting Carter, as James did. Not in the same way, sure, because the lieutenant couldn't feel anything “fishy” about the young marooned blacksmith, only something strange. But both of them found there was something wrong with the young man. And James couldn't just ignore that.

Wilhem Carter seemed normal. But at the same time, he seemed off. He had this thing about him, too perfect, too nice, too knowledgeable. If the Navy officer hadn't known any better, he'd have thought Carter was a man of good education, for he knew too much for a blacksmith. He knew sailing, he had obviously found his sea legs quite a while ago, he could read and write, and what else? James couldn't be sure, but the knowledge Carter had displayed during the past few days was more befitting of an old man with too many summers.

“And that's not all... There's this new star, all bright and shining, that appeared in the skies the night before we found him! Witchery, I say, and the castaway is the cause of it!”

James walked away from the sailor, wondering if the man had drunk, again. But at the same time, he knew he'd be out on the deck tonight, to take a look at that “new star”. Maybe Gibbs was just imagining things, and it was yet another of the classical stars he had forgotten about in drunken stupor. Or maybe not.

The young lieutenant sighed. Joshamee Gibbs was a good sailor, who knew what he was talking about, and did what he had to do without questioning orders. If only he could lay off the bottle...

James glanced one last time to the children who were with Carter and the governor. They had been lucky, this time. If Miss Swann had fallen, the crew would certainly have been able to retrieve her, but who knew in what state? Before, or after she'd have drowned? She was but a child, and he was certain she couldn't swin. Turner's intervention had been great help, though James would have liked it better if the boy hadn't almost fallen overboard with the girl in his attempt to rescue her. If he had gone all the way, they would have gotten another child to save...

Which lead him to Carter.

Miss Swann had slipped away from the blacksmith's watchful eye for a mere second, and gotten herself in quite a mess. The lieutenant couldn't say he was surprised. She obviously had a fierce temper. Even if she overall behaved like a proper young lady, she didn't seem afraid of adventures and dangerous situations. She even seemed to crave for them so much it might end in some kind of unpleasant situation one day. He didn't wish it to happen, but being realistic, he wasn't going to deny the girl would probably, somehow, manage to get herself into trouble in the future.

He hoped not. But he felt she would.

Yet, despite the danger Miss Swann had faced and kindly shared with the Turner boy, Carter had been there fast enough to avoid any lasting hurt. James still couldn't believe how quickly the young man had joined the children and taken care of the situation. The lieutenant had heard the scream, and then the second one, he had turned to look, he had seen, he had feared. Then he had blinked.

The next thing he knew, Carter was holding onto Will Turner and reaching for the governor's daughter.

But he could have sworn he had seen the man standing at least two meters away only a moment before.

James must have been wrong, surely there was an explanation. Maybe he had seen Carter talking with the governor before, and had assumed he hadn't moved. Maybe, when he had looked at the two children, he hadn't paid attention to the young man running to get them, because he had been too scared for the kids.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, Gibbs' voice was nagging at him, telling him there was something “fishy” about all that, telling him he wasn't wrong, that he had seen Wilhem Carter here one moment and there the following one.

James scoffed at the thought. Right, trust Joshamee Gibbs' judgement over your own, it's certainly the thing to do! The man drank too much for his own good, and he was supernaturally hard-wired.

Shaking his head in disbelief at his own thoughts, the lieutenant left the deck to Portwell's cabin, where he had been headed before the incident.

Will glanced at Norrington as he passed by them, but quickly reset his attention on the boy sitting next to him.

“Let me see your arm, William. I want to make sure you're only bruised.”

His younger self hesitated a second then held up his left arm, where he had collided with the rail in his haste. The skin was already turning a disturbing color, Will noticed, but aside from that, the only other damage he could see was a scratch.

He had been foolish to let his attention wander away, even if it was Governor Swann talking to him.

Hell, he remembered the incident from the first time around. It had happened the day before, in his original timeline, and when he hadn't seen it unfold at the predicted hour, he had guessed his presence had erased the event, since Elizabeth had been listening to Gibbs' story-telling while his younger self had been sitting on his lap at the time. But if his presence had effectively altered the events, it hadn't changed Elizabeth's bravery and impulsiveness. The girl had been busy the day before, but now she had found the perfect time to do her stunt, and things had happened, in the end.

He couldn't assume his mere presence would make people wiser, though he could turn the tide of events a bit, knowing the personality flaws of many people.

Maybe he should try to rob back the aztec coin from Elizabeth, so that she wouldn't fall in the water with it and alert Barbossa and the other cursed pirates, eight years from this day? He apparently couldn't simply make sure she wouldn't fall in the water, because it'd most likely end up happening no matter what, later perhaps, but happening anyway. He'd think about it.

“You seem alright. Next time, just try to prevent her from doing something dangerous, will you?”

Will almost gnashed his teeth as he said that. He was asking a lot of the boy, knowing Elizabeth, and more importantly, knowing how he had himself been at the time.

Will the younger blushed a lot, and looked away.

“Will?”

Damn. That was odd, calling himself like that, yet not being the “himself” he was calling. Not that he'd have called himself out loud if this “himself” had been him, that would be downright strange. Unless your name was Jack Sparrow, of course. Jack was strange, strangeness was his natural state. Wait a minute, was he really thinking about that?

Will shuddered. For a moment, he had been under the impression he was channeling Jack.

An idea that was downright disturbing.

His younger self shifted on his feet, and Will waited patiently. Eventually, the kid let it out.

“I think she was trying to cheer me up.”

Oh, so that was why he was feeling guilty. Question being, why had he forgotten about that particular thought over time? Every memory with or about Elizabeth had always been a treasure to him, more than ever at two times in his life: when they had drifted apart growing up, because of their social backgrounds, and during the long years between their reunions, aboard the _Dutchman_.

“I've... I've been having nightmares.”

Will frowned, then realization dawned upon him.

The nightmares. Of course. That was the reason he had tuned out this particular memory. Because of the nightmares. The bloody nightmares. Those dratted, damned, twice hated nightmares that had haunted three years of his life after the attack.

He really didn't see what he could do about those, but he wasn't going to sit around as his younger self suffered from fear and recollections in the dark of the night, alone, scared, trashing in his bed over and over again, until he woke up with a silent scream on his lips. There was no way he'd live this again, even if he wasn't actually the one living it, and even if said “one” wasn't actually living it “again”. William Turner didn't deserve to suffer from those nightmares.

Will checked around that no one was listening, and lowered his voice. He could get away with what he was going to do because his younger self was exactly that, younger. But if anyone else heard, they'd surely think there was something unnatural going on. He had already made an enemy of the ship's cat, and Gibbs was always eyeing him warily, and he wasn't even going to talk about Norrington who seemed to spend half his time observing him.

Luckily, the cat was nowhere to be seen. After the outburst of power from their first encounter, the animal had been avoiding him like the plague, and he only caught sight of an accusing glance now and then, from afar. Gibbs had disappeared from the deck, and Will had seen Norrington enter the captain's cabin.

All clear.

“Nightmares about men who weren't men, right?”

The boy's eyes widened, and he was about to talk when his older self put a finger before his lips.

“Shhh, don't talk about it, they wouldn't believe you.”

Will paused a second, and amended.

“Well, Elizabeth and Gibbs might, but they would talk about it to someone else, and it'd end up with you being labelled a liar, or maybe a poor boy who imagines things because he's too afraid of what he saw. Trust me, you don't want that to happen.”

He himself hadn't told anything back then, but he had seen the reaction of the Navy men after the fight at Isla de Muerta. They hadn't said anything, all looking to the commodore, who hadn't said anything, because he had already lost the _Interceptor_ because of this nonsense, and wasn't foolish enough to write a report mentioning undead cursed pirates.

Will looked his other self in the eyes, and all he could see there was fear.

The memory from the first time he had seen the skeletal pirates, the memory he had kept away all these years, resurfaced. He shuddered as he pushed back the _Eleanor's Jewel_ 's deck, the dead, the blood, and the ray of moonlight that had made its way through the fog.

“There were men, pirates who looked normal enough, though very dirty, and they were killing everyone searching for something, searching for someone, and finally, searching for you. You don't know why, but you heard them say they wanted the child, and you were the only one aboard the _Jewel_. You hid, and you jumped over the rail the first chance you got. And they blasted the ship, and you climbed on a piece of wood, a piece of the _Jewel_ , and then you saw it.”

Will the younger was now in his arms, shivering, sobbing in fear. The boy didn't know how Wilhem Carter knew all that, but it was the truth, and despite the fact that the man was bringing the memories back to the surface, despite the fact that the images from his dreams were pounding loudly at the door of his mind, Carter was still the safest person he knew. In the young man's arms, he felt as if, despite the dread, despite the fear, nothing would harm him. Carter felt like family, like a father, like a brother, but more, oh so much more, because he knew exactly who William was, as if he had been William at one point, and so, was able and willing to shield him.

Carter was whispering in his ear now, but it wasn't frightening, it wasn't threatening, it wasn't taunting. It was just a whisper, because no one else than the two of them could know of the secret, because they couldn't talk about undead pirates to the others, and because his fears and nightmares weren't to be shared.

“A ray of light came through the fog, and under the moonlight you saw what they really were. They weren't men. They were monsters, of bones and rotten flesh.”

The boy tried to nod, but his head was already against the young man's shoulder, and he couldn't. Yet, Carter seemed to understand, and just held him in his arms, and just stayed there, conforting his younger self.

He waited a long time.

And the boy, exhausted by his day, exhausted by the memories and the fear, slowly, very slowly drifted to sleep.

Will carried him to where he slept, and tucked him under the sheets. There, he stood another while, looking at the boy, looking at his past, not sure when he had started to be this miserable, whether or not it had stopped at some point, or if his life and death had always been a succession of misfortunes.

When he left and went back to the deck, Norrington and a few other sailors were out too, working for some, watching over the work for the others, and even enjoying the silence of the night when they could.

The lieutenant was staring at the stars, actually, and when Will followed his gaze, his eyes locked on a star that wasn't meant to be there, a star that reminded him of something, but he still couldn't get what it was.

The former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ did his best to walk away silently, but Norrington seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense his presence at all times, and the man turned to look at him. Dead in the eyes.

“Have you ever seen this star before, Mr. Carter?”

Will winced in the dark, and walked over to the lieutenant, feeling he was doing something dumb.

 


	6. Living enigma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made James call Will "Mr. Turner" in the last chapter, and no one pointed out my mistake? I'm disappointed.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> I love fencing. And thanks to it, I get to write some french in between.

The lieutenant had been looking at the sky and the stars, when he had heard someone walking towards him, intentionally or not. “Not” was more likely, James thought as he recognized Wilhem Carter, as Carter had done his best to keep away from him without actually looking suspicious about it. It made his efforts kind of pointless, but still, the Navy man had noticed because he himself had been trying to keep an eye on the blacksmith without actually looking suspicious about it either.

They'd call it a draw, since neither of them had been quite successful in their self-assigned tasks.

Anyway, James felt he had to say something, to talk and mend the broken bridge between them that had never even been there to begin with. He felt that they couldn't just go on like that, him suspecting Carter for no apparent reason, beside the fact that the blacksmith was a living enigma, and the lieutenant had difficulties staying away from enigmas, and Carter avoiding him as if he feared James was going to have him hanged for no particular motive as soon as they'd reach Port Royal.

And, yes, he was curious about this man. He couldn't see anything bad in his behavior, any hint that Wilhem Carter was not who he claimed to be, but still, there was something unnatural about him, and James was going to find out what.

And of course, he wasn't asking about the new star just out of boredom. The star had appeared out of nowhere, if the men's discussions and his own knowledge were anything to go by, and he wanted as many people as possible to tell him he wasn't crazy, and the star had not been there only a few days ago. Yes, he was obsessing about it. He knew it, and knowing it didn't make it any less true, so he'd just go on obsessing about a star as he was obsessing over Carter.

The blacksmith walked out of the shadows, into the light of a lantern. He looked quite reluctant to do so, and James had the feeling the young man was studying his face attentively, as if searching for something alarming.

Under the dim lights of the ship, the lieutenant thought Carter looked eerie, perhaps a bit spectral, but not in a bad way. Lights and shadows turned his handsome face into a mask of shades and sorrow. There was something otherwordly about him, as James watched him walk from the dark into the light, something sad and wise, and old, older than he seemed under the light of the sun.

“Which star, Lieutenant Norrigton?”

Will dared not pretend he knew nothing of the night skies, for he had let his knowledge slip to the sailors too often during the evenings aboard the _Dauntless_. If the commodore Norrington hadn't been known for his bonding with his crew and men, this James Norrington was only a lieutenant, and had to have heard about it at some point. And if the commodore had never been friends with the lowlier people, that hadn't meant he never listened to what was said on his ship and ignored the sailors and soldiers altogether.

Norrington turned in the direction of the very star that had appeared with his travel back in time, and that shone so brightly it'd be hardly believable if he pretended he didn't see it. Anyone with a little knowlegde of the night skies could tell it had never been there before.

And then there was this feeling he had, such a strange, disturbing feeling, each time he looked at the bright white spot. It was warm, and almost pulling him to itself, as if it held some secret part of him he was missing severely.

It definitely had something to do with him, with his return to the time of his youth.

The lieutenant's voice startled Will out of his considerations.

“According to the sailors, it simply came into existence the night before we found you. As impossible as it sounds, I must admit my memory tells me the same thing, and if it wasn't reliable enough, every single sky chart of mine agrees with me and the men.”

And what was Will supposed to answer to that? It wasn't even a question!

And he could hardly say, out of the blue, and out of any sense of self-preservation, that its apparition surely had something to do with him being pulled back through time after the death of his wife at more than eighty years old. The lieutenant hadn't yet seen the cursed pirates, and he didn't believe in the occult for now. Time travel would lend Will in an asylum, and he certainly didn't look his true age. And if ever Norrington suddenly started believing in the supernatural, that wouldn't be any better, for the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ would surely end up in an unpleasant situation, involving a not-of-the-friendly-kind bonfire, and maybe some torture.

“I don't know what to say, lieutenant. I have never before seen this star either.”

Will should have backed away then, he knew it, but he didn't.

Instead, he walked to the lieutenant, though keeping a respectful distance, and rested his elbows on the rail. There, he started playing with his wedding ring, a gift from Barbossa and Jack after the battle with the East Indian Company. It was surely the only thing they had ever agreed on: undead captain sentenced to ten years at sea for one day ashore or not, William Turner wouldn't wed Elizabeth Swann on their ship, be it during a battle or not, and sail away without wedding rings.

James' eyes went to the golden band on Carter's finger, and frowned.

Definitely a wedding ring. And one of good quality. Wait, was it a band of Tiger Eye that was glinting on it? How come he hadn't seen that before? And more importantly, what was the blacksmith doing with it? He looked, what, twenty, twento-two at most, and was travelling alone, without a wife. He certainly couldn't afford a golden wedding ring with a gem on it, least of all two of these.

“Are you married, perhaps?”

The young man tensed at the question. His eyes traveled down to the ring as if seeing it for the first time, and he stopped fiddling with it right away. Maybe he hadn't realized he had been toying with it, turning it aroung his finger, this way, that way, there and back again.

The same as when his hand went to his sword without him knowing it, maybe.

There was a silence, that lost itself into the night.

James almost thought he wouldn't answer. It could mean many things. She could have left. Left him. Left this world. Eitherway. Both ways. If Carter didn't want to talk about it, the young lieutenant could understand.

Eventually, the silence broke down, and the blacksmith answered.

“I was.”

But not I am.

“Elizabeth was sick.”

Elizabeth.

Carter's wife was named Elizabeth.

“Is that why you left England?”

Will spared a quick glance at Norrington.

It wasn't really a lie. Elizabeth hadn't been ill, but she had been sick. Her sickness was the same as any mortal's: old age. Death. She had weakened, and died. It wasn't so different from being sick.

He hadn't realized he had given him her name, and the lieutenant hadn't reacted to the similarity between Miss Swann's name and the blacksmith's wife, because there was no reason for him to think about that. It wasn't as if the Navy man could have guessed the truth.

For now, the secret was safe.

“Yes.”

No.

Perhaps.

More or less.

After all, if he hadn't truly left England, that is, not this time, though he had done so many decades before, Will had left one place and time and had ended up on the _Dauntless_ following Elizabeth's death, and maybe, his grief.

Was it why he was back here, with his past? Was it because of his grief? Was it because he hadn't gone back to the _Dutchman_? Was it his punishment, to see his past unfold and led him to the exact same point of despair and hopelessness? Or... was it an opportunity to change his fate?

Will had no answer to these questions, but he realized he knew someone who might tell him. Well... Had known. Before. Now, he knew her, but she didn't know him. Yet. All the better, maybe. Though she might be able to tell at first glance. After all, she was a goddess. Locked in a human shell, sure. Would she know? She had only part of her powers, as a witch. Still, she was the one who had made Davy Jones what he was. So, technically, she was the one who had made Will what he was.

She'd know.

Or, at least, Will hoped Tia Dalma would know.

There were so many things he had to do, when he'd be off this ship...

First of all, he would stay in Port Royal for a time, and see if he could get something, even slightly, better for his younger self. Mr. Brown wasn't so bad, at first, but Will couldn't see a way to make sure he wouldn't become a drunk this time around. There had to be something he could do to help Will the younger's situation, though. There had to be.

Then he had to find funds.

Easy.

If he could get his hands on a boat, he'd sail away to Isla de Muerta. Even a dinghy would be fine, even if not very comfortable. He wasn't afraid of sinking, after all, and drowning would be a joke. Barbossa wasn't likely to share his treasure, but Will wasn't going to ask, and he wasn't planning to take much. Just enough to buy land in Tortuga, away from the town, and to build his own smithy there, because he couldn't do so in Port Royal, where everyone would know he was supposed to be penniless. Some tricks, here and there, and no one would dare to rob his place. He wasn't immortal and gifted with supernatural powers for nothing.

Maybe, buy a small ship, to sail from one place to another, to go back to Port Royal once in a while... He had a hunch he'd need one, once his other self would be old enough to get in trouble.

The lieutenant was watching the other man as he looked pointlessly into the dark of the night, and he wondered what he was thinking about. His wife? Their past? Or the future he hoped to build in the Caribbean?

But now Carter had nothing left to himself, to start again. The _Eleanor's Jewel_ had sunk with the blacksmith's furniture. What was he going to do, with a sword too expensive to be bought by just anyone, and a wedding ring he surely wouldn't want to part with?

“What do you plan to do in Port Royal, Mr. Carter? You have nothing left.”

But unlike what James had thought he'd do, the young man only smiled.

“I don't have any money left, true, but that does not mean I have no valuables with me, lieutenant Norrigton. I had already crossed path with pirates when Barbossa came after the _Jewel_. Unlucky encounters, if I must say, and before you assume anything. But I learned from my misadventures, and let's say that once they had searched me, they forgot they weren't the only one able to take what wasn't their. It is not much, but...”

James was astounded by what he had been told, and by what he then saw.

Out of Carter's left sleeve, three diamonds fell into his open right hand.

“Do you realize I have to take them?”

Will smiled again. Of course, the lieutenant couldn't let him keep them. They were stolen goods, and, if their rightful owner couldn't be found, they were the crown's. He handed the diamonds to the Navy man.

“I know. But it's not because I say I have only three that I don't have six of those stones. I have two sleeves, after all. And it's not because I say I have another sleeve that I don't know of other places to hide the only fortune I have, so you'd better take those diamonds, lieutenant, and pretend I never suggested I had others, for you won't be able to find them. That is, if I even have others.”

Stupefied, Norrington eyed Will strangely, as if he was now seeing another side of the man, a side he had never seen before, and had been far from suspecting its existence.

Of course, the diamonds hadn't come from the _Black Pearl_ , since Will hadn't really been on said ship, not since the battle with the East Indian Company, and not for another eight years if history was to repeat itself. Needless to say, he hoped he could prevent the part during which his past self would be locked in the brig. Or even the part where the _Pearl_ raided Port Royal. Anyway, as the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ , Will had had access to many treasures, and had had those six diamonds with him, for some reason he didn't remember, when he had been whirled back in time.

If the commodore hadn't asked, excuse him, if the lieutenant hadn't asked, Will would have said nothing. But Norrington had asked, and the former captain had answered, as truthfully as he could. That is, not much.

Will hoped that, despite the lieutenant's love for rules, this would go smoothly. The commodore had been stern back then, but he had let go of Elizabeth for him, when he had understood she would never love him. After that, he had once again freed Elizabeth, and from a situation that was way more terrible than a loveless marriage, and it had cost him his life. The commodore had done that, not only because he still loved the young woman, but also because he had seen what Beckett was doing with the heart he had given him. He had seen the dead, and not only pirates, but children, women who had no other choice than to live amongst thieves and dangerous men, and who had all been hanged as if they had chosen this life.

Will liked to believe that under James Norrington's beliefs in the crown and in the law, there was something more. He liked to believe that if the lieutenant, captain, commodore Norrington had stuck to the law this forcefully, it wasn't because it was the law, but because it was supposed to make the world a better place. The young man hoped there was something great in Norrington, something other than stiffness, and that, maybe, he'd get to spare him the year of shame in Tortuga, and the untimely death under Beckett's ruling.

And to his relief, the lieutenant pocketed the gems, and said nothing about these anymore. How was he going to explain their apparition to the captain the following day, he wasn't sure, but Norrington would figure it out. After all, it was the man who, in his timeline, had gotten away from explaining that he and his men had fought a crew of undead pirates.

James sighed, and his eyes feel on the hilt of Carter's sword.

“You don't ever leave it behind you, do you?”

The young man followed the lieutenant's gaze, and he winced as he remembered for who exactly he had made this sword, years ago. His own eyes traveled to the Navy man's own sword.

“Do you?”

“Rarely. But I am a military man, and you are a blacksmith. I hope you don't fear one of the men will rob you of it.”

“No, but I was only a boy when my first encounter with a pirate occurred. I might have become a blacksmith, I still spent hours training, everyday, alone, not far from my master's forge, because I couldn't bear the idea that I would be so helpless ever again.”

Hours? James liked the sound of that.

He looked around. The crew was doing its job well enough, and he hadn't got many opportunities to train or fight since their departure from England. Their journey so far had been quiet, made remarkable only by the two Wills they had rescued and the sinking ship they had both come from.

James looked back at Carter, and wondered...

“Would you let me witness the result of your training?”

He really only wanted to have some useful fun. Right, maybe he was eager to fight the blacksmith. Why, he couldn't say, but James felt he wanted to know a lot about this young man, and damn, he was going to find out everything he could during what was left of their journey to Port Royal.

“Why not? By the rules, I assume?”

“By the rules.”

Carter smirked, and James felt he might have made a mistake by challenging this unbelievable man. He ignored the feeling, because he really only wanted a sparring partner, and not to ridicule the blacksmith for having suggested he could hold his own against a soldier of the king, as some would have done. Even if he were to lose, it wasn't an issue to him.

As they fought, the sailors raised their head from their work, and the soldiers turned to look at them.

Salute, advance, invitation, attaque au fer, quarte, riposte, preparation, balestra, flick, prise de fer, opposition, lunge, en garde, retreat, simultaneous, derobement, thrust, quinte, coulé, parry, recovery, moulinet, passe arriere, feint, glide, seconde, volt.

They were good, so good it was a true spectacle to watch, and the crew and the Navy men felt that if they hadn't decided beforehand to play it by the rules, their match would have become wild and lawless. Coins changed hands when the blacksmith finally disarmed the lieutenant.

The victorious man suddenly hissed in pain. Something hairy and clawed had attacked his leg.

Damned cat.


	7. For later use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaaah... It took me some time to write this chapter, like three days, when I only need three hours, but anyway...  
> I'm free from mock exams! ( until the next ones, that won't be "mock", but let's be positive, shall we?)

Will had gotten away from being inspected and treated for cat claws marks by saying they hadn't gotten through the fabric of his pants. Of course, it had been a lie, but since the wounds were already closed, he couldn't really comply and let the doctor look. He had quickly retreated to some dark place below deck and scratched the blood away, before finaly getting to the splinter in his arm. For that, he had needed to cut open his arm and forage his flesh until he had found it, which had been very unpleasant. Even more so that the cut was healing as he searched.

He frankly hoped he wouldn't need to do that any time soon again.

The following days went smoothly.

When the lookout in the crow's nest called for Port Royal, Will the younger was able to read the simplest sentences, and his older self had started to teach him and Elizabeth some arithmetic, as soon as he had found out they were less likely to do anything adventurous, and so, dangerous, afterwards. The children weren't exactly happy about that, but he was always forgiven when he and and Gibbs started telling them stories about the seas.

As he watched the town grow bigger every minute, Will thought back on the lastest day of the journey, from sandbank to nanny. He couldn't say he had expected his life to turn out like that.

To be honest, when he had refused to go back on the _Flying Dutchman_ the other day, he hadn't been expecting anything at all. His brain had simply been stuck on the thought that it was Elizabeth's grave he was sitting upon, it was where her body laid, it meant she was not there anymore, he wouldn't see her anymore, the only reason he had to go on in this dratted life/unlife/undeath/death/whatever-it-counted-as was gone. He had spent no more than a handful of days with his children, and the sixty-or-so years he had been married were equal to exactly seven days.

He hadn't been thinking.

He had known he wouldn't just get away with it, but he hadn't cared. And if he had known he would be here, in his own past, as a result, he might have done just the same.

True, it hurt to see Elizabeth and know it wasn't his Elizabeth, not yet, and not ever since she would, at best, be his younger self's, and not his. True, it hurt to see how damaged even the child Will was. True, it hurt to see the faces of people so long gone, some of which he had even mourned back then.

But on the other hand, Elizabeth wasn't dead yet, and she was happy. The young Will was getting better, and that faster than he had himself gotten in his timeline, because he was here to help, and no one could know the kid better than his older self. Maybe he'd manage to change the future a bit, and make it better for the two children.

As for the other people he had known, more or less yet more than less, namely, Gibbs and Norrington, Will was kind of happy to see their faces after so long.

Gibbs was a bit of a nuisance, though. The old sailor wasn't yet a pirate, but the future pirate was as bad as a sailor as when he'd be a proper pirate. That is, Gibbs was constantly sending him dark looks and insinuating things about how funny it was, that they had found him all alone on that cay, unarmed and well, alive. How peculiar it was, that strange things tended to occur around Wilhem Carter. How interesting it was, that the ship's cat kept away from him.

Actually, Gibbs and the cat were acting very much alike.

Only, Gibbs didn't try to claw him at the first occasion before running away in fright. And not only because Gibbs didn't have claws. The facts were, the old sailor had taken the habit, despite his glaring and muttering about the young man, to talk with the said young man about legends of the sea, as soon as he had found out hat Wilhem Carter was mighty knowledgeable on the topic.

The children seemed to enjoy when they talked about it.

Norrington was another story altogether.

Many times, since their first sparring, Will and the lieutenant had been faced with each other, and the blacksmith found he rather enjoyed it. At times, other Navy men tried their luck too after having seen their fights. Once, Captain Portwell himself had asked for a match. Soon it had become official that Will was the undisputed best swordman on board, closely followed by Norrington and two other soldiers. He always won, but of course, with decades of training, it was to be expected. Not that he had told anyone about that, of course, and anyway, even back when he had been alive, he had been one of the best, a natural, they said. Over the years, he had lost scarce one-on-one fights. These had happened when he had still been naive, and not used to Jack's cheating.

Sorry, “pirate”, you know.

Anyway, the point was, Will was starting to enjoy the lieutenant's company.

Not that it worried him because James Norrington was a bad man, far from it.

But it worried him nonetheless, because in a way, they were both searching for each other when they had nothing to do, and while it might be to the Navy man's benefit, since he obviously wanted to know more about the strange blacksmith castaway that Will knew himself to be, it was dangerous for him. Norrington wanted to uncover his secrets, out of curiosity and dislike of being left in the shadows. Will wanted his secrets to remain just that, secret. So spending time with the very man who was trying to uncover them might not have been the brightest idea.

But Will couldn't resist. He was always asking for more, he wasn't sure why, but it was the case. Maybe it was because Norrington was the only one from his old life who wasn't totally painful to look at. His younger self was only a child, and well, he was himself. Elizabeth had been his wife, and was a child too. Gibbs had been something of a friend.

Norrington had been someone Will had known just like that, in passing, because they lived in the same town, and had some shared history, but nothing more. When he looked at the green-eyed man, Will didn't feel that heartbreaking twist in his chest. No joyful memories were coming back to him, when he met the lieutenant's eyes. And yet, Norrington was an anchor to a past that wouldn't be a second time.

Now that there wasn't Elizabeth between them, and no visible age difference, Will was getting to know James Norrington for who he really was. And maybe it had to do with him being a bit younger than the first time, but the Navy man was also easier to get along with. He was a bit stiff, sure. But unless he was talking about pirates, there wasn't the same underlying disdain in his stiffness, that would come to be a few years later.

Will sighed, and looked at Port Royal, that was always nearer, always bigger to his eyes.

That city was the end of this journey, and as much as he wanted to, he didn't know how he could be of any help to his other self once they'd be ashore. Hell, to be frank, he knew that the best would be for him to disappear completely. He couldn't wait for Will the younger to grow up and end up with the exact same face he had, and that when himself wouldn't be aging a day. It wasn't wise.

Yet he couldn't just abandon the boy to the fate he knew he would have.

He simply couldn't do that.

“Thinking about what come next, Mr. Carter?”

Will didn't turn around to look at Norington, but there was no mistaking this voice.

“You have no idea, lieutenant.”

“Try me.”

Will stayed silent for a few minutes, but finally relented.

“The only future there is for Will out there is if he find a master to teach him some craftsmanship. But even like that, what will he do? He has no money, no family. He's searching for his father, but his father is nowhere to be found, and he will stare at the sea, waiting for the right merchant ship to come, and for his father to be on her, but the sea will never grant him his wish, because his father wasn't the man he believes him to be. William will wait, and nothing will ever come to pass. He will grow up doing his master's hard work, because that will be the only way for him to get anything to eat and a place to sleep. And I can't do anything to help him escape this life.”

Standing just behind Carter, James was listening, and all he heard was that the blacksmith wasn't even thinking about himself, but about the kid they had rescued from the _Eleanor's Jewel_. The future he was thinking about was the life of this child, and not his own.

Somehow, the lieutenant had the disturbing impression it was because Wilhem Carter didn't care about his own future, as if he had none. As if there was nothing to worry about, because time would go on, and Carter would simply stare at it from aside.

It was easier not to talk about it, so the lieutenant talked about something else.

“You like him a lot, don't you?”

Carter turned to look at James, frowning in confusion.

“William Turner.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.”

There was something in the blacksmith's voice, but James wasn't sure what it was. It sounded off, in a way, as if that was yet another secret of Wilhem Carter.

“When I look at you two, it's strange, you know? As if you were his older brother or something, and I really don't know what to make of it. How comes he trusts you like that? The only other one aboard he opened to is Miss Elizabeth, and they're the same age, so it's normal, I guess. But William is still afraid of everyone else. Even Gibbs, though he bears with the sailor's strangeness because you or Miss Elizabeth are there with him every times.”

Will barely noticed how Norrington had called his younger self William, and not “the young Turner” as he had done when he had been his younger self. He didn't notice, but his brain registered the fact, for later use, maybe, that the lieutenant had apparently taken a liking to the other him.

Because he barely noticed it, on the other hand, Will didn't get to wonder why this was happening, and how his sole presence aboard the _Dauntless_ could have led the lieutenant James Norrington to care about the orphan William Turner.

It wasn't so surprising, to be truthful.

“Wilhem” and William were the same person, only with a different story, or more accurately, a respectively longer and shorter story. William hadn't yet lived all that would change him into Will. If Will had anything to say on the matter, he wouldn't live half of it. But in the end, they were both William Turner.

If James Norrington had started to like “Wilhem Carter”, he could only do as such with “Carter”'s past-self. And the truth was that James Norrington was slowly growing concerned with “Wilhem Carter”, the living enigma he had sworn to himself that he would decipher one day or another.

And Will cared for his other self, so Norrington was starting to do the very same thing, even if he wasn't yet aware of it.

“If I can be the family he will never have again, even for a short time, I think I should do it that way. I don't have a family, and William don't have one either. I don't have to worry about my future, because it can't get worse than it is already, but Will don't have one at all. And everyone deserves a future.”

James said nothing about Carter not having a future. He was certain this wasn't true, that the man still had many years to enjoy. But he didn't want to tell him that he'd certainly find love again, one day or another, not when the love he had married had died and left him.

It'd be true, but it wouldn't be any less difficult to believe.

There were many things in life that were true, and yet difficult to accept. That was why trying to comfort someone with words was so difficult. You could always know something to be true, to be reasonable, you could know you didn't have to feel this way, so miserable, so pathetic, it didn't mean you weren't feeling that way.

“You plan to stay in Port Royal for a bit, then?”

Carter smiled.

There was something sad, something hurting in this smile, but it was a smile. It wasn't a simple smile, triggered by a short moment of joy, as when they were sparring, and it wasn't a very joyful smile, but James could tell it was a honest smile. The only one who had gotten something like that from the blacksmith, so far, was the boy Turner.

And even if this was most likely because the conversation was about the child, James still felt grateful for that smile, that little bit of confidence, that was directed to him, for once.

He didn't know why he was feeling this way. It was odd. It was as if they were becoming friends.

Even if that didn't make any sense.

Wilhem Carter was a man he had nothing in common with. James wasn't nobility, far from it, but he was from a well-off family nonetheless. His father was an admiral in the Royal Navy, and had been so for already eighteen years. He would soon retire, James knew that, but the name Norrington had some influence back in London. Carter was a blacksmith with no family, and no name for himself.

Which was quite odd, given the quality of his work, if the sword at the man's hip was anything to go by. Coming from Britain with that kind of skills and not having any name?

But it was only one of the strange things about Wilhem Carter, and James had decided he would accept it. For now.

“I don't have a future, lieutenant, because I have no need for such a thing. I will just walk my way into life, no matter what I choose to do. William is young, and even if he has no name, no money and no family, he can still create them. He has the time for it to happen. I will stay in Port Royal for a few month, then I'm afraid I'll have to move and search for a place to establish myself. There are enough blacksmiths here. But as long as I will be in town, I'll make sure that Will get the better deal out of everything that happens to him.”

Will had started playing with his wedding ring, again. He did that a lot.

“My future is worthless, and I will gladly give it away for the sake of William Turner.”

He had only whispered the last sentence, and surely hoped Norrington hadn't heard it.

The lieutenant said nothing after that, and just walked away.

The _Dauntless_ came into the port. Soldiers from the fort came to welcome them, as well as the now-replaced governor of the island. The old man gladly handed over his office to governor Swann, and Will the younger sadly looked in silence as Elizabeth was being led away, to a society he wasn't part of. His older self watched sadly, remembering how in the following years, the two children would only catch glimpses of each other, always reminded of those days aboard the _Dauntless_ , never forgetting that in the end, no matter how poor or rich they were, no matter their names and ancestries, they were only humans. And as such, they had known each other, and had seen they weren't different in the slightest.

Will refrained himself from snorting. It would have been suspiscious.

But he knew that his plea to the captain and lieutenant to keep Will away from the sea would certainly prove to be futile. They couldn't and wouldn't try to control his younger self's life. Even if they did, William would certainly not let them do so.

Because the sea was William Turner's freedom, no matter which William Turner was concerned. It was his freedom, because despite the pirate attack, despite the fact that his father had left for the sea, it was on the sea that Will and Elizabeth had met, and shared a few days of liberty, away from the shackles of society, away from what could not be between an orphan such as William Turner and a governor's daughter such as Elizabeth Swann.

Because the sea was William Turner's prison, no matter which William Turner was concerned. Even while keeping away from it, the thought of it would plague him.

Will hadn't been particularly drawn to the sea, when the _Black Pearl_ had raided Port Royal, when he had been eighteen years old. It had never called to him as it did to Jack Sparrow. But it had always ensured he would come back to it, no matter the time spent ashore, no matter his wishes.

Will watched, and decided he had to pay a visit to one mister Brown before someone else did it, to talk about his younger self's future.

On his way to the forge, though, he stopped to a commotion across the street.

Two red coats were trying to get a shabby looking man to follow them, and one lieutenant James Norrington was just behind them, trying to get himself to be obeyed, for once.

Will blinked, and searched his memory for the incident. Of course, his younger self was at this very moment at the fort, telling everything that had happened to the _Jewel_ once again to some officials he only remembered about because one had had a nasty-looking wart under his left eye. Will hadn't witnessed the incident.

But the face of the man wasn't an unknown one.

The man, who was looking very pirate-like, wasn't complying with the soldiers' orders.

And it came back to him.

This was a pirate, sure enough. And he would get away in the following seconds. The Navy would catch him again, and have him hanged in a few days. Will the younger would see the hanging, hence the known face. But he wouldn't be caught before...

Will turned around, and saw the young woman that had been stabbed in his other life.

 


	8. Lies, lies, lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errh, this was supposed to be a new year gift, but...Happy belated New Year?

Just as Will turned around and saw the young woman he knew to be a future victim of murder, the pirate freed himself from the soldiers' grasp.

“Out of the way!!!”

The women took the children inside, while the more muscular men in the street tried to get into the way of the criminal. The inhabitants of Port Royal didn't like pirates, and if they usually let them alone, this time, there was only one of them. They could take him on. Actually, they felt they'd better do so, because he was alone, and armed. To escape from the soldiers, he wouldn't shy away from hurting, maybe killing someone. They had to stop him before it happened.

The pirate ran down the street, passing through the wall of men by turning around and ducking at the appropriate times.

But he stumbled on a discarded piece of wood, and it made him fall just before a young woman.

He looked behind. There were men blocking the way.

He looked forward.

The woman was frozen in fear, blocking the way too, but she wasn't as difficult to take care of as the various men workers behind him.

The pirate gripped his cutlass harder, and thought that indeed, it would cut down some lass this day.

He raised his weapon. The blade was directed to the young woman's chest. If she lived, good for her. If she died, a pity for her. Eitherway, good for him, because he would be free, and not hanged. The cutlass was about to rip the clothes and enter the flesh. He would injure her, and throw her to the side with his weapon. He didn't care that she might die because of it. He was a pirate.

A hand fell on his left shoulder.

The pirate turned around.

Or rather, he was turned around by an iron grip.

He would have turned around eitherway, to see who was the one to whom belonged the hand, and if the men behind had caught up with him, or maybe worse, the soldiers. He would have, to assess the danger, or even simply out of instinct.

But it was the grip of a young man that turned him around, and not his own free will.

Will had grasped the pirate's shoulder as soon as he had reached him, and he had yanked him away from the woman, just before the blade had touched her. Now, he had a pirate falling on him with a cutlass in hand.

He forced himself to stay still as the weapon entered his left side. Only the tip was in. Better than nothing. If everyone in the street had seen with a blade sticking out of his back, it would have been difficult to pretend that he hadn't been wounded.

For the exact same reason, he hadn't been in a position to simply pass through the blade. If he had done that, everyone would have seen it.

And there was also the fact that he couldn't at the same time have a hold on the pirate and pass through his blade. Even if he was a supernatural occurrence, there was some consistency to his powers. He couldn't be material and not be material at the same time.

The pirate looked at the man who had caught him wide-eyed.

It was a young, handsome man, with more strength than he would have guessed just by sight. His features were somewhat familiar, but he could say he had never met him. His jaw was clenched, and he looked somewhere behind his prisoner, as if trying to remain calm.

Or to clench in the pain.

The only words he ever heard from him were quiet, and directed only to him.

“Now I have no choice but to wound you back, or they will ask where the blood comes from...”

The pirate felt something hot and tacky dribble on the hand that was holding his cutlass. He looked down the man's face, to the slightly reddened blade, and finally to where it disappeared in the young man's shirt.

The stranger, who was still holding him, and in fact, who was the only reason he hadn't fallen to the ground yet, moved a bit.

The pirate's eyes darted to the short sword at the young man's hip.

He had said that he would injure him. He had the means to do it. And apparently the will, too.

The pirate tried to get his cutlass out of his opponent to counter, but the stranger was holding it with his left hand, apparently not caring about the edge of the blade that was furrowing his fingers.

Will took out his sword, and released the pirate's. He couldn't walk around harming non-threatening people, even pirates, after all. And he had no doubt as to what the criminal would do as soon as his weapon would be free.

Feeling the grasp of the young man weakening, the pirate drew his cutlass back to him, before swinging it to the man's head.

This stranger should not have gotten in his way.

Will ducked.

The blade went just two inches above his head, before going down to attack him once more.

But his own blade pierced the man's stomach at the same time. Will made a step to his right. The attack died in the dirt of the street.

The pirate fell onto Will, who had placed himself just before him so that it would happen. He withdrew his sword from the man, not really caring if the pirate lived or not, after all, he was surely an assassin and a thief, and he was bound to be hanged if he survived. On the other hand, he cared that he'd get as much blood on him, if only to cover the fact that there was some of his blood there too, when there wasn't a wound left to be seen.

The crow had parted for the two soldiers and the lieutenant of the Navy to join the criminal and the one who had stopped him.

To Will's surprise, Norrington cursed when he recognized him. Will's surprise wasn't because of the “when he recognized him” part. No, what was shocking what that the future commodore James Norrington actually cursed.

The lieutenant pushed the pirate aside, right into the arms of the soldiers.

James' eyes widened dangerously as he took in the bloody state of one Wilhem Carter.

“Your luck with pirates is still particularly low, I can see.”

Will grunted something unintelligible in answer to the very dry tone, as he tried to move away from the crowd.

The lieutenant certainly thought it was because of the wound that could only be the reason for all the blood and the cut in the smith's shirt. He stopped Carter from leaving.

“You shouldn't be moving with that wound.”

“Not my blood. It's his.”

Norrington squinted at the lie, and before Will could stop him, he pushed aside the sliced shirt to look at the wound he was sure to find. But he saw nothing, except a bit of blood, that had apparently made its way through the fabric and the hole in it.

“You're telling the truth...”

Will winced, as he knew it not to be the case, and yet, felt slightly insulted. He hadn't given any reason to the lieutenant to doubt his word. Alright, not many, beside the diamonds, and the fact that he didn't always answer every question asked, and... The point was, there was no reason for Norrington not believe him.

“Of course I am. The tip of the cutlass only cut the shirt before he chose to go for my head instead.”

_Lies, lies, lies, you're a liar, Will, a liar... Shut it._

Of course he was a liar. If he wasn't, he'd be in deep shit. If there was one thing the people liked less than pirates and criminals, it was a supernatural being on the loose, that was not up in heaven, nor down in hell, these two being the approved districts for the supernatural.

James frowned, looking at all the blood, then looking at the sorry looking pirate and his wound, and back at the blood on Carter. That was quite a lot of blood for a single wound... Oh, well, if the criminal didn't die of it, he'd be hanged all the same.

“You'll need another shirt.”

Will suddenly remembered that this shirt, as every other piece of clothing he had worn since he had been thrown back in time, except what he had had with him at the time, had been given to him. Worse, if he wasn't wrong...

This was one of Norrington's shirts.

He wasn't sure why, but the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ suddenly felt a bit awkward, standing there in the lieutenant's shredded and bloodied shirt, as the said lieutenant was checking his side for wounds he didn't have anymore.

“Right, hang on... I have one here.”

As he said this, Will noticed he in fact didn't have his bundle with him. All his possessions were in it, and the bundle itself was in fact his old headscarf. He looked around and saw it lying on the ground near the young woman whose life he knew for a fact he had just saved. He made his way to get it back, shrugging as if to say sorry.

Sorry about what, he wasn't sure himself. But sorry nonetheless.

“I hadn't even noticed I had let go of it.”

Norrington quiclky ordered the red coats to get the pirate to the jail, since it seemed he wouldn't do him the pleasure of dying on the spot. Once that done, the lieutenant led the blacksmith to a place where he could get changed without having half a dozen of onlookers. Female onlookers proved to be extremely difficult to escape, by the way, and that irked James to a point! No sense of decency, these young women, really!

The lieutenant looked at the darkened sky while the blacksmith changed into a clean shirt. It seemed it would rain this night.

“How exactly do you do that?”

The question had escaped from James' mouth before he even got the time to consider that there wasn't an answer. He bit his lip, conscious of his slightly exasperated tone. He didn't want Carter to think he was mad at him or anything. It was just that...

Well, it was a bit worrying that the blacksmith had had so many encounters with pirates during the years. From what he had managed to make him say, and James would like to point out that it wasn't much, the Navy man had gathered that it was at least the fifth time, today.

Apparently Carter had met his first pirate more or less in the same fashion as the young William Turner, and when he was a child too. After that, there had been an attack on his city. Carter had also let it slip that he had somehow ended up searching for a pirate to get back something of value, but as soon as the words had left his mouth, he had clammed up, as if it was something he'd rather not talk about. Then there had been the Eleanor's Jewels... And now, this?

James wasn't stupid. He knew that many people on the seas hadn't gone there out of their free will. It happened that pirates took prisoners during a raid, forcing them to work on their ship or die... and sometimes, those people became real pirates in the end, and not only slaves. There were also those that, after meddling a bit with this kind of criminals without meaning it, ended up being drawn back in the mess, meddling a bit more with pirates as a consequence, being targeted for a reason or another, meddling too much with the wrong persons, and finally, one thing leading to another, engaging in piracy without even being aware of it until it was too late.

And dying, be it at the hand of another pirate or of a Navy man, be it because of a hangman's hoose or not. Or, they simply died, without the previous steps to becoming a pirate.

The point was, Carter seemed to be attracting pirates-related-troubles. Being so unlucky, it was only a matter of time before he died, or at least, got badly injured because of it.

“How do I do what?”

James wasn't sure, but he thought the blacksmith's voice was a bit tense.

“How do you always get in trouble with criminals?”

If Norrington had been looking at Will, he would have seen the young man relax. But he was looking in the other direction, not sure if Carter was done with changing or not, so he saw nothing.

For a moment, Will had thought the lieutenant had discovered his lie about the wound, even if he saw no way this could happen, after all, James Norrington was supernatural-repellent. Or maybe he had caught up on the fact that Will had started running to the young woman before the pirate had even tripped down and she had ended up between him and his escape route. There were so many ways for the lieutenant, who was the one he was the closest to since his coming back into time, Will the younger excepted, to discover that something didn't add up with “Wilhem Carter”!

Too many ways, for even if he didn't want to, Will couldn't help but use his powers from time to time, reflexes gained after almost one century with them. Just the other day, he had evaded an out-and-about barrel that had escaped a sailor's grasp, but not by jumping to the side. Luckily, no one had seen how the barrel had actually gone through him...

He'd had to work on that.

Because there were too many ways for him to be discovered that even the most down-to-earth people would, if he wasn't more careful, pick up the hints. Even James Norrington would grow suspicious if he saw a barrel roll through his newly-made friend, or other things of the same type happening.

“As long as I am the victim, and not the perpetrator, it shouldn't be a problem, right?”

The lieutenant turned to the half-joking man, who now wore a light grey shirt.

“Yes, as long as you aren't a criminal too, I won't have to arrest you. But what I mean, Carter, is that you'll end up dead if this go on.”

James' eyes went down to the bloodied shirt, remembering the injured pirate.

“Even if I have to say that your demonstration from before and your fighting skills make you more of an executioner than a victim. I'd pity the criminals who would attack you, if they weren't just that, criminals.”

“I'll stick to saving my own life, and if possible, others' too, I promise. I didn't ask to attract trouble, you know.”

Will's tone was a bit teasing, which made Norrington arch an eyebrow.

“Indeed. Now, what were you planning for the day? I'd rather accompagny you, just in case another pirate assaults you on the way.”

Will laughed. It was still strange to him, to have James Norrington the Great Pirate Pursuer caring for his well-being, but he couldn't say it was unpleasant.

“To the Brown Forge. I heard the blacksmith is searching for an apprentice.”

Not exactly true. He hadn't heard it anywhere. But he knew it to be true. After all, he had been taken as an apprentice there for that exact reason, decades ago. Or a timeline ago? Eitherway...

They started walking. The passersby were looking oddly at the bloodied cloth in Will's hand, before their gaze traveled to the lieutenant next to him, and they simply decided it wasn't their business. To stare, that is. Gossiping was another thing altogether.

“I don't believe you need any more training, Carter...”

As he said that, James ogled shamelessly at the young man's sword.

Will followed his gaze, and smirked. He had just gotten an idea, to repay Norrington and Portwell for the leniency they had displayed after he had told them about his and Will the younger's father.

He doubted they'd say no, once he'd present them the gifts he wanted to craft.

Maybe he could do something for Gibbs too... He had been great in trying to entertain and possibly frighten the children with the darskest legends of the seas, to no avail with Elizabeth, Will feared.

Elizabeth...

Would it be alright for him to make her a gift, too, before he sailed away?

For now, he though he'd stay one or two months in Port Royal... But he really needed to speak to Tia Dalma, if anything.

Will sighed, shook his head to dismiss the lieutenant's questioning glance, and went on walking to the smithy he knew so well. He'd think about it. A gift for Elizabeth... Not a weapon, obviously, she was way too young for that... But maybe a necklace, or a bracelet.

Which reminded him that he'd have to at least try to get the medallion out of her possession.

Ah, his life had become so chaotic, lately... But it was still better than being stuck on the _Dutchman_.

They arrived at the smithy, which looked just as he remembered. Before entering, Will answered Norrington's latest statement.

“It's not for me. But I think that it wouldn't be so bad a position for Will to get.”

The lieutenant nodded in understanding, and turned to leave. He was stopped by Carter's voice.

“See, Lieutenant, no pirate attack on the way!”

James smiled a bit.

“Just... Try not to get yourself killed, will you?”

 


	9. A price to pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost thirteen hours that I am nineteen years old... Yeaaaah... I don't like getting older.

Will pushed open the door, and walked into the smithy.

He could hear the sound of a hammer on metal, but couldn't see Brown just yet. The anvil was too far to the left for him to see it, after all...

The place hadn't changed much, besides the fact that there were considerably less empty bottles lying around. The donkey wasn't the same either, he mused as he called to his mind his recollections of his first time at the forge.

“Excuse me?”

He had figured it might not do to call Brown by his name, even if it was written on the sign hanging outside, when he wasn't supposed to know the man. Yet. That is... whatever.

Because before his mind had become constantly clouded by alcohol, the blacksmith had been pretty suspicious. Usually, for reasons that weren't even logical to think of. And that led the smith to be a bit too nosy, for Will-the-undead-man-that-had-been-thrown-back-in-time to feel confortable with.

Not that Will had anything to hide.

Right?

A voice to his left called out to him between two pounding sounds.

“Over here!”

Ah, the glorious memory of the not-so-drunk-and-not-so-decrepit Andrew Brown! Despite the man's indiscretion, William was very happy that he would be dealing with this Mr Brown, rather than with the snoring, drinking, vomiting version of the future. At least, with this one, he could speak.

When he joined the man near the anvil, the former captain of the _Dutchman_ could only see his back. If Andrew Brown had always been short, he had not always been as fat as how Will remembered him to be the last time they had seen each other. Actually, the thirty-seven years old blacksmith was kind of skinny, for now. He hadn't lost himself in rum.

Yet.

If Will remembered well, it had only lasted two years, the first time around. The smith had been stuggling financially, and Will had been around to do all the cleaning, leaving Brown to have too much worries and free time, resulting in heavy drinking.

“Just wait a little while, I finish this and I'm all yours.”

So William waited, watching appreciatively the simple yet well balanced sword that Brown was currently making. Despite his flaws, Mr Brown was a good smith. Even if Will believed he had been a particularly good student, he also knew that if the blacksmith hadn't been a good teacher, he would have never gotten as good as he was now. When he thought about it, it was truly a shame that the man was to become the wretched shadow of himself that he remembered...

Eventually, Andrew Brown put aside the sword, and looked at the young man that was waiting for him.

Something immediately struck him as odd, about the stranger's outfit. It looked like... there were good and bad pieces of clothing, and most were not the right size either. As if he had been lent some clothes to wear. The blacksmith frowned.

He frowned even more when he saw the small sword at the stranger's hip. It was a work of good quality, no doubt. A work of art, even. It surely cost much.

Then his eyes fell onto the tiny burn on the side of the young man's right hand.

Brown squinted.

“Got burned while working, eh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This burn, on your hand. You're a smith too, aren't you?”

William brought his hand to his face, looking for the said burn. When he found it, his eyes lit up. He had completely forgotten about it. It had happened so long ago... Before he had become the way he was now, and so the burn had never disappeared, for his immortality kept him in the same state he was when he had died.

“Oh, that? Back when I was an apprentice, someone came in while I was working, and it surprised me. Anyway, Mr...?”

“Brown. Andrew Brown.”

Will smiled wildly, knowing full well what his former / future / whatever master was thinking about right now. Surely it had something to do with unwanted new competition in Port Royal.

He'd better reassure him quickly.

“Mr Brown, thanks. Yes, I am a blacksmith. I'm only in town for one or two months, and I have a child I'd like to place as an apprentice. I can't take him myself, for I will be moving around quite a lot in the next years, but I heard you are searching for one...?”

The other blacksmith seemed to relax as soon as Will mentioned he was just there in passing, but he became tense again when the subject moved to the offered apprenticeship.

For the first time, William noticed that even if Brown wasn't yet an alcoholic, he already seemed worried about something. Was the business truly that bad? The young man wouldn't know, for back in his time, at ten years old, he hadn't been paying attention to this in particular. Too young, probably.

Brown moved over to sit on a chair, the very chair that would many times support his drunken form in the future. The smith sighed, gesturing to Will to take another seat and join him.

William did so, intrigued.

There were ten seconds or so of silence, before the smith talked again.

“How old is he?”

“Around ten years old. He was rescued by the captain Portwell after his ship was sunk by pirates. He has no family left, but I have taken a liking to him during the journey to Port Royal.”

Andrew Brown stopped himself before he asked the next question he had in mind.

“Wait, you were on the _Dauntless_? You don't look like a Navy man, and you've just said you are a blacksmith. So what were you doing...”

Will, feeling he'd better indulge to the smith's inquiries, as to not make him think he was actually hiding something... even if he was actually hiding something... Will answered almost truthfully.

Well, at least it wasn't a lie. Sure, it wasn't the whole truth either. But the whole truth wasn't Brown's business in any way, so...

No, it wasn't that he was starting to feel bad for all the lying he had been doing lately. Certainly not.

Or maybe a bit. A little bit. A tiny little bit.

“I was rescued by the _Dauntless_ too.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, exactly. Oh. Anyway, the boy's name is William Turner, and he needs a place to stay, and a way to live, if anything. He's a bit shy, he has been frightened by those pirates, after all, but he's willing to learn, and not too bad with his hands.”

Will stopped talking there, and observed the other smith's reaction.

Brown hadn't denied that he was searching for an apprentice, but he still looked uneasy, as if somehow... As if somehow, he couldn't afford one, even if he needed one.

“You say he has no family left?”

Will nodded, and once again, the blacksmith sighed.

A thought came to William's mind. He looked around, while Bown was off thinking about things he couldn't fathom what they were. Or more accurately, he wouldn't have fathomed, if he had still been a ten years old himself.

There was a layer of dust in the smithy, except near the anvil and the most used tools. Several blades and other productions were all over the place, and yet he couldn't see much raw metal anywhere else. Brown looked very, very tired... and very, very worried.

“Mr Brown... Are you perhaps having money problems?”

The smith jerked up on his seat, his back stiff and his eyes suspicious.

“Why are you saying this?”

This time, it was Will who sighed longly before answering.

“You haven't taken the time to clean up the forge in a while, the dust says it all. You have many orders finished, but you're almost out of materials, and yet you're still working on new ones. You're looking for an apprentice, and yet you are hesitant to take one. I'd say you are not experiencing a lack of customers, but difficulties to pay back a debt or something of the same order. Taking in an apprentice would allow you to gain time, and finish your orders more quickly, so that you'd be paid sooner, and with the money you could pay back what you owe. But taking an apprentice wouldn't make you work faster soon enough, because you'd first need to teach him how to do everything except the simplest tasks. Moreover, you'd still have to at least give him a place to stay and meals to eat. The place isn't a problem, for there is an attic above the smithy, but the meals are costly.”

The face the blacksmith made was enough to confirm Will's thoughts. Brown really was in a tight spot...

And that had just given the young man an idea.

“In other words, you need to hire an apprentice to pay back what you owe, but you can't take an apprentice since you already are in financial need.”

Will stopped one instant, just to confirm one last time what he already knew, before he started talking again. He wasn't sure how Brown would take his guessing of his struggling, so he'd better move on with his offer right away.

“Listen, I have some money. If you take the boy in, I'd be willing to pay back your debt.”

Andrew Brown's eyes grew wide at the proposition.

All that for a boy this man barely knew? It wasn't even a liking the stranger had taken to the boy, it was more in the line of parental affection. Or maybe something less... No, he wouldn't think of this. After all, if this young man had been feeling that way for the boy he wouldn't be trying to place him in apprenticeship at someone else's business. Or in another town, for the matter. After all, the stranger had said he wouldn't stay in Port Royal.

But anyway, this offer was a godsend.

But Brown sobbered up, when he realized that no matter how far the man was willing to go for the boy, he would rather search for another place than pay all that he owed. It was simply too much.

The blacksmith averted his eyes from the young man's gaze.

“I'm not in debt. It's just that... Well, there was an incident, and I lost a priceless order to a thief two weeks back. I had to redo it, and I couldn't ask the customer to pay twice. I'm out of money, but I still have to finish paying this forge. I've bought the place six months ago, and I'm only halfway done. The former owner will maybe accept one month of delay, but nothing more, and I'm not sure I can do it.”

There it was. Paying for the smithy. It certainly was too much. The stranger wouldn't want to pay this much, when he certainly could find a way to place the boy somewhere else.

Brown looked back at the other blacksmith, and was surprised to see a new glint in his eyes.

He blinked.

Surely he had been mistaken.

But no, the glint was still there. Even worse, there was a slight smile to go with it.

William was pleased to see this idea was turning out so well. He certainly hadn't expected this. He thought for one second, then took out the diamonds he had shown to Norrington.

“When I said I had some riches, I wasn't joking, Mr Brown.”

Said smith looked dumbfounded at the little tiny shiny stones that had revealed themselves when his fellow blacksmith had opened his hand.

There was definitely something fishy about this man, with his golden sword and his gleaming diamonds, but right now, Andrew Brown couldn't care much about fishiness or no fishiness. In fact, he had half a mind to just knock the stranger on the head and grab the jewels. He wouldn't, of course. He was an honest man, after all.

But he couldn't deny that it was tempting.

“Of course, if this is only for you to take Will in, it would be a bit of a price to pay.”

“That's what I was thinking too...”

William could hear some regret in the man's voice, as he admitted he couldn't possibly hope for such a great deal to be real.

“So I have another offer to make. You take it, or you leave it, your choice. I'm not certain you will like it, though, but at least it would solve your money issues.”

Brown arched an eyebrow at the way the young man was being cautious about his offer. He couldn't see what could be bad enough that he wouldn't want his smithy to be paid off.

“It's very simple, really. I buy you the first half of this place, and then I'll go pay the former owner for the other half. Technically, the forge will be mine, but you'll be the one to use it. I don't want a rent or anything, only the promise that you'll take Will as an apprentice, and that once his work will be worth something, you'll give him half the money gained. As long as he is only your apprentice, and fill orders you take, that is. Oh, and possibly, it'd be great if you kept the second room for me, when I'll come in town. I don't think I'll be there more than one or two months a year, by the way.”

Now the blacksmith could see what was bad enough that he wouldn't want his smithy to be paid off. Because this deal meant it wouldn't be “his” smithy anymore.

“Are you offering to buy my forge, and after that hire me as an employee?”

“More or less. As I said, I wouldn't be asking any money from you. Just, you look after the place, and you treat the boy well. It's not so bad a deal, no?”

Brown winced slightly. There was no need for the stranger to know how tempted he was by the idea, even if it meant he wouldn't be the owner of the place anymore. After all, if he refused, he had no guarantee he wouldn't be thrown out for not having honored his buying contract.

He truly was in a tight spot.

“Do I get to keep my name on the sign?”

The stranger looked confused at the question, but eventually shruged.

“I don't care, really. I guess that it wouldn't hurt.”

Oh, no, it wouldn't hurt. In fact, it'd help him to keep up his act towards the people of Port Royal. It wouldn't be said he'd be known as the smith who hadn't been able to keep his business even one year.

“Then I guess we have a deal...”

After their agreement, Andrew Brown left to get the previous owner of the place, and William went to change his diamonds into gold coins, for it would be easier to make the transactions this way. They were to meet up at the notary's office one hour later.

Once he had his money, William wandered around Port Royal a bit, remembering his childhood. He was fairly sure that his latest idea had just secured his younger self a better future. Sure, it wouldn't be perfect, and there would not be many butterflies and rainbows to make it pretty, but at least, Will the younger would get a bit of pocket money before he got seventeen years old. And maybe, maybe, with the thought of losing his working place gone, maybe Brown wouldn't become such a drunkard this time around.

And he had even gotten himself a place to stay when he'd come to visit the other Will.

Yes, Will knew the contract wasn't signed yet. But he could see no reason why it wouldn't happen, nor a way for it to turn awry before he got to the notary's office. Brown was the winner, financially speaking, in this deal, and William couldn't imagine that the other owner of the smithy would refuse the offer, when it meant he'd be paid in one go, the same amount of gold, this very afternoon.

As long as he didn't get attacked by a pirate on his way to the notary's office, that is, he mused, chuckling.

Fortunately for him, and fortunately for the hypothetical pirate that could have attacked him and would have had a bad surprise in doing so, Will arrived in time at the notary's office, unscathed. Not that, if he had been attacked, he would have been wounded, since, you know, accelerated healing.

The former owner of the forge was a burly man, taller than the former captain of the _Dutchman_ , who had moved his shop to another part of the town for some reason. Him and the notary were quite puzzled at the strange deal they respectively made and wrote down, but they did it nonetheless, and that without asking unnecessary and sensitive question.

Everyone left the notary's office quite happy with their part of the bargain, except the notary, since he was already where he was supposed to be, in other words, in his office. And he was quite happy too, never one to disdain an earning, no matter how oddly it had come to him.

Brown went back to the smithy, planning on resting this evening, since he had nothing to pay back anymore. He also thought he could clean up a bit, to receive his new apprentice later that day.

 


	10. A happier youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ans the next ones won't be a day to day report of Will's life, or else I will nerver reach the films...  
> And truthfully, it's hard to write about a 10 years old; I don't remember how I was at 10!

Will left the city's port with a thoughtful look on his face.

He wasn't planning to leave yet, of course, still he couldn't help but wonder how exactly he would leave Port Royal, when the time would come. Would he try to get hired on a merchant ship? Would he buy a small boat, maybe even no more than a dinghy? He really didn't need much to be able to sail away. Though, if he wanted to put it in these words, a dinghy would obviously not do, since it didn't have a sail.

The devil is in the detail, as they said.

As for him, he thought it was most likely to be found, at this time of the century, on a ship with black sails and a cursed pirate crew. Or maybe on another ship, that went under water, and terrified the oceans. Now that he thought about it, if Barbossa, in his cursed form, and Jones met and got on each other's nerves, would would win the battle? The _Pearl_ was the quickest, the _Dutchman_ was the strongest; both of their captains were nearly immortal; two cursed crew, who cared not for their lives and freedom...

Ah, obviously, Davy Jones would win. After all, Jones had a kraken. It could come in handy, a kraken. No, really.

And there was also the fact that, with Calypso out of the picture, Jones was usurping her godly domination over the seas and oceans. No, Barbossa wasn't anywhere near Jones' league. Sure, he'd be an annoying undead fly, but he would be more than that: a fly.

And if the fly didn't want to be beaten, Jones would simply send it away to the Locker. There, undead or not, the _Black Pearl_ 's crew would be simply and flatly trapped.

Will sighed ruefully. It was such a shame that he couldn't just put the one against the other, and thus be ridden of at least half of his current worries.

Well, things were what they were, and he couldn't do anything against that right now.

The swordsmith walked by the streets of Port Royal for a while, going here and there, remembering this and that, especially events that had yet to happen, and that, maybe, would not happen at all in this timeline.

He walked to the beach, and looked at the water that he had actually walked under, a dinghy above his head, with Jack as an accomplice, to go and steal the _Interceptor_ , all these years back... or forward, depending on the point of view.

This was definitely not going to happen. First of all, he would do all he could to prevent Elizabeth's capture. And, if he failed, he'd find another way. He was certainly not going to let his younger self steal a ship from the Navy. It had been one of his rare offenses that were really offenses, and he was determined to keep it from happening. The less reasons William would give to Beckett to justify his deeds, the better.

It was plain obvious that no matter what he did to change history, Beckett would still come to Port Royal and try to get the Heart. The man had wanted it so badly the first time around, Will didn't think anything less than murder could keep him from acting that way all over again.

Speaking of which, maybe it would be easier to simply go and make the bastard disappear from the surface of the Earth. The underground was definitely a more suitable place for Beckett... Beckett's body... Eitherway.

Will took a deep breath to calm himself, and stared at the sea. He couldn't just go around murdering the people who would possibly hurt his younger self in an already unsure future. It wouldn't be fair, for now they could very well be good people yet. He wasn't going to murder Beckett or anyone else before they did anything worth the punishment...

That didn't mean, of course, that he couldn't murder them once they'd have shown to the world that they hadn't changed in the least.

The former captain of the _Dutchman_ looked up, at the form of the fort, up and afar. He just knew there was no way that William would live a quiet life. It wasn't in his blood.

He'd have to make it so that this life wouldn't be quite as unlucky as the first one. Meaning, doing so that there would be less reasons for his younger self to be blamed for anything, especially by the authorities. Meaning, making sure that less people died this time around. Meaning, not being too obvious in his attempts to better William's life, for he didn't want to draw the supernatural to the child, being himself a supernatural being.

Ah, it was difficut to be sent back to one's own past, to be frank. There were so many variables to take into account, it was making him giddy.

But well, he had decided to improve his younger self's life, and he was going to do it. He could have gone, hidden into a hole, or just lived his life without taking in consideration this boy from his past, who was scared, hungry, and unhappy.

He hadn't.

He had been given a chance to change things for the better, and so he would use it as best as he could.

Finally he went back to the smithy. There, he stopped three meters before the door.

There, just at the door, stood the small figure of a child. A girl. With blond hair. And ornate clothes. And she was peeking inside the shop.

No doubt about it, it was Elizabeth. Even if she wasn't facing him, the opposite, in fact, Will could just tell it was her. Sure, the hints were obvious. Still, even if she hadn't been dressed as a governor's daughter must, he'd have known it was her. This shade of blond was engraved in his mind.

Will smirked, and crept on the girl. His father was surely not aware that she had come downtown to find the sole survivor of the _Eleanor's Jewel_ and play with him. She was definitely not supposed to be here, but she had come anyway.

Then again, Will didn't intend to ask, so, if asked, he could answer that he hadn't known.

“Miss Swann, I'm afraid William is out with the blacksmith on an errand. You should go back home before your father send someone to fetch you.”

The girl started, thanked him, and went back home with a small smile on her lips. He hadn't forbidden her to come back another time, no, had he?”

Will entered the forge, thinking back to the last two weeks.

His past self had been very shy with Brown, at first, but the fact that himself he had decided to stay for a month and a half seemed to have consoled the child. Will the younger still kept quiet when the blacksmith didn't address him directly, but he didn't seem to be particularly distressed by that new addition to his daily life.

The child had also started his apprenticeship. For now, of course, he wasn't doing much, but Brown and Will shared the duty of teaching him the basics, or at least the theory, for the things he was yet too young to do.

Will soon noticed that he wasn't feeling as disturbed as before, when dealing with his other self. Sure, it was strange, knowing what errors the boy was likely to make beforehand, because he had done these errors when he had been an apprentice. And yes, it was even more strange, to be with someone whose thoughts he could mostly guess correctly, for he was that very person, and yet wasn't. But it wasn't as odd as it used to be.

And anyway, Will was confident that if his past changed enough thanks to his presence in it, William the younger wouldn't, in the end, be exactly the same person as the one he had been at the same age. Deep down, they would both be William Turner, but on the surface, it would be possible to distinguish them. His younger self, with a bit more love, and a bit less misfortune, for Will was adamant that he'd watch over the boy, would be a happier youth.

At least, he hoped so.

Will figured there was no way he'd keep his other self away from all that had happened to him. Jack Sparrow was one of those “things”, and he wouldn't be surprised if, in the end, the pirate just found a way, without even searching for one, into Will the younger's life.

If the young Will and Jack were to meet, his older self was more than convinced that it wouldn't do for it to happen with the same odds as the first time around. First, he had to get Will to be a bit less clueless than he had been. Jack didn't usually have ill intentions... He just lacked the ability to understand that luck wasn't always there to fill the gaping holes in his plans. And in the end, he was still a pirate.

Will sighed, sure that the captain of the _Black Pearl_ would give him more headaches in the future.

Brown had taken his younger self out to deliver a sword. He was alone in the smithy.

William went to his room to take some rest. He had had much to think about since he had been whirled back to his past, and he was more than grateful when he could sleep a bit, even if his body didn't actually need to. He wasn't human anymore, but his mind still was, and so it tired, especially under pressure.

He awoke hours later, when the sound of a door closing reached his brain through the heavy mist of his dreams. He couldn't say he remembered what they had been about, but he was sure it hadn't been so pleasant, all in all. He was sweating, now, and that was usually the sign of a bad dream.

Maybe it had been about Elizabeth, and their children.

It was often about his ancient life.

Will decided that he wouldn't think about it, since he didn't actually remember the dream.

He opened an eye slightly to see the small and dark figure of a boy standing before the ray of light coming from under the door.

There was no other light in the room; the night had come, at last, while he was sleeping. Too many times, on the _Dutchman_ , Will had slept only when he felt like it, regardless of time or hour. Now that he was back amongst the living, his erratic sleeping habit had started to become a problem. Sometimes, he wouldn't sleep for three days, but, of course, without looking tired at all. And as he didn't actually need to sleep, he didn't wake up either once he was rested. He was always rested, in a way. And so, once or twice, he had slept for eighteen, twenty hours straight, much to the shock of both Brown and Norrington.

Will the younger was, well, too busy with other preoccupations, and didn't seem to find it that odd. His older self suspected that the child had not truly registered the fact.

But if the orphan failed to notice many of the oddities about “Wilhem Carter”, he certainly never failed to know when the swordsmith was sleeping at normal hours: each and every time, the child would “mistake” his own bed, to the right of the door, with Will's, that was to the left.

Not that Will minded.

They shared the second room above the smithy, the first being Brown's.

The former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ moved a bit towards the wall, so that his other self could climb next to him.

A small but warm form had thus come to cram under the sheets almost every night since they had taken up residence at the forge. Will could only guess why, but well, he supposed his younger self just felt safe with him. And strangely, he would always wake up with his arms around the small frame of the child. There again, his best guess was that he was feeling protective of this cute, shy and scared version of himself.

So this night too, Will the younger crawled next to his older self.

The child stayed silent for a few minutes, but he really wanted to ask Wilhem. He felt he had to ask. He felt almost certain that the grown-up would not be angry.

But still, he was afraid to ask.

What if Wilhem was in fact angry at him?

The man's nose came into contact with the orphan's head, and for some reason, Will the younger felt reassured. Wilhem was keeping him close to him, even now. It hadn't been just because the boy had been miserable on the _Dauntless_. The swordsmith really liked him a lot.

After all, he let him sleep in his bed, with him, even if Will still had nightmares. Though, when into Wilhem's embrace, he had many less of these nightmares.

The child took a deep breath and summoned up all his courage, suddenly afraid that, maybe, the swordsmith had already fallen asleep.

Will sensed his younger self tense, and reopened an eye, watching cautiously over the mop of hair that was under his nose.

Eventually, the child spoke. His voice was low, as if unsure that it wanted to be heard, and Will could tell there was a little fear in it.

“Wilhem?”

Will drew back his nose from the orphan's hair.

Maybe his other self took it as a mean to distance himself from him. The child tensed. And so, Will tried to sound as gentle as possible.

“Yes?”

“I... I was playing with Mrs Baker's children this morning, and...”

Will smiled in the dark, happy that his younger self was already out with the other kids. It had taken him at least one more week to leave the forge and meddle with the neighboring children, in his timeline.

It was not only a proof that he could change some things, but also one that he was changing them for the better. He hoped things would stay that way, now, that the tables wouldn't turn afterwards.

Will the younger, oblivious to his older self's worries, and frankly, way too busy with sorting his own feelings after the pirate attack, went on with his story.

“Pete asked who you were, and why you take care of my as if you were my father, when it is clear that you are too young to be him, and... I... I said you were my older brother.”

There was a silence after that, the child anxiously waiting for a reaction.

Too stunned with the revelation, Will at first kept quiet, before a soft laugh escaped his throat.

Mortified, thinking that maybe the swordsmith was mocking him for his gullibility, for having dared to present himself as his younger brother, the orphan shrank when he felt fingertips on his hair. Anytime, now, Wilhem's hands would close upon his hair, and the man would thus drag him out of the bed, and...

But Will only carressed the child's head, and his younger self felt a bit less afraid.

A bit.

“I'm honored, William.”

The orphan relaxed, and the swordsmith took him in his arms as if to coddle him.

They had taken to call each other by their full first name, because even if it wasn't a problem that they shared a nickname to them, it was to others. Of course, the adult scarcely talked to himself, and so, when he said “Will”, he was either presenting himself, or talking about, or to, the child. The same thing could be said about the orphan. But strangely enough, their shared nickname only served to confuse the people with whom they talked. And Will knew it was only the beginning. Once his other self would have gotten past puberty, they'd have exactly the same voice, and let's not talk about the face...

So, when they spoke of one another, it was either “William”, or “Wilhem”. By now, Will had grown accustomed to his fake-but-not-really new name... Still, even if he had been the one to suggest for them to speak so, it happened that he responded to a question diriged at “William”. These times, he would say he had misheard. After all, “William” and “Wilhem” were pretty close...

The child's shining eyes were now directed at his older self's face.

“You don't mind, then?”

Will smiled contritely.

“Not at all. But you shouldn't cry for something like that. Never doubt, William, that I love you like a brother. So, don't cry for such a reason, please, or you'll make me sad too.”

The child gasped in horror, and wiped the budding tears away.

“I won't cry anymore! Don't be sad, Wilhem!!! I don't want you to be sad!”

“No, it's alright to cry, just, not about that, you know. I don't want you to doubt that I care for you.”

The orphan nodded.

“Now, it's time to sleep, William, or else you will be tired tomorrow and Mr Brown and I won't be able to teach you anything correctly.”

Will the younger nodded again, and pressed his eyelids shut as if the more pression he used, the faster he would fall asleep. Then again, it might be the case, for it was tiring to do so. After a few instants, the child's face relaxed.

He was sleeping.

Will smiled knowingly, and closed his eyes too.

He felt good, now. Safe, and not alone. For a moment, he figured he was the one who needed his other self's confort, and not the other way around.

Maybe both situations were true.

 


	11. Burglary expedition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've started a twitter account, where I'll post the news about my various fanfictions: update, hints as I write about each story, and hopefully no news of cancellations  
> https://twitter.com/EKernor

Will left the smithy around three p.m. in the afternoon, and made his way to the mansion of the governor. He fully intended to try and snatch back the medallion this day, and while some thought it would be stupid to do that in broad daylight, it really wasn't the case.

Trying to rob the governor's house in the dead of the night, however, was sheer stupidity.

True, it would have been best, but only if the mansion had been empty at the time of the break-in. And it happened that in fact, the Swann mansion was never empty at night. Surprisingly enough, the people that lived here used it at night to sleep. Astounding, wasn't it? It was nonetheless true. Moreover, there were always at least four workers in the house, besides the Swanns, and there wasn't a moment of the night when absolutely no one was awake.

Conclusion, trying to rob the mansion at night was foolish.

During the day, on the contrary...

There might be one or two servants in the house, but that was all. The governor was busy in town, and Will knew for a fact that Elizabeth was not at her lessons, for she had been playing with his younger self when he had left the smithy. It was sunday afternoon, and the house was almost empty.

For now, Will the younger and the girl had been deemed young enough to be allowed near each other in spite of propriety. The governor had seen how caring his daughter was with the young orphan, and he wasn't willing to separate them yet. The blacksmith hoped his other self would make good use of the little time he had to spend with Elizabeth; this state of mind would not last.

Soon enough, the girl would have to sneak out to see her friend, and in less than two years, she wouldn't be able to at all, for she'd be considered to old for her to disappear without a warning. After that, it would be six long years during which the two children, teenagers by then, would only speak to each other a dozen of times, and get a sight of the other one from afar around once every two months, if things were to go the way they had for him.

The point was, the mansion of Governor Swann was almost empty at this time of the day, and it wasn't like Will had much to worry about being seen breaking in. He had a fair advantage, there, and he was going to use it. After all, what was the point of having supernatural powers if you couldn't use them to save the lives of countless innocents?

Or to get into someone's house without being seen, in that case. After all, Will had the right blood to end the curse on Barbossa's pirates, and if he could get his hand on the medallion, the pirate would just end up being killed, at some point, either by other mongrels, or by the Navy. If the _Black Pearl_ ended up sinking in the process, too bad, but no matter how much the blacksmith liked the ship, she wasn't worth the lives of Barbossa's victims. So he was definitely not about to commit burglary on the mansion of his future / past / not-quite-father-in-law. He was doing this to save lives.

And it wasn't as if he intended to steal anything else than the medallion, that didn't even belong to Elizabeth in the first place.

Will sighed as he caught sight of the mansion, not far ahead. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so guilty about all this, it wasn't as if he had ill intents. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Speaking of ill intents, he hoped no servant would see him in there. He certainly wouldn't have problems escaping, but that didn't mean he wanted someone to know he had been in the governor's house at a suspicious hour and without anyone knowing about it. Though, considering no one would have allowed him in, the hour didn't matter much. Be it two in the morning or eight in the evening, his being there would have been suspicious no matter what.

Will stopped a few meters from the house, and leaned against a wall, as if thinking about trivial matters basking in the sun of the afternoon. From where he stood, he had a good view of the street. No one was out there. He took a deep breath, and stared at the hedge that stood between him and the mansion.

It was now or never. Someone could come in the street any time, and he definitely couldn't let anyone see what he was going to do.

Will looked around one last time. Still no one.

His eyes went back to the top of the hedge, and the next second, he wasn't in the street anymore.

The blacksmith almost lost his balance, as he felt the ground under him be substituted by the hollow mass of leaves and twigs. Before any kind of catastrophes could happen, he focused on what now appeared before his eyes, and teleported at this place, praying that no one had been behind the hedge when he had done that.

He could teleport himself only to places he could actually see, and so he had had to pass by the hedge first. Up there, he hadn't really had the time to check his surroundings, for he didn't want someone to see him standing on the hedge of the governor's mansion, nor did he want to cause a ruckus by falling all the way to the ground as he couldn't keep his balance on a bush.

Fortunately, no one had seen anything. Still, maybe actually passing through the hedge could have worked better. Sure, there was still the possibility that someone would have been on the other side, and someone could have seen him walk into the hedge as if it hadn't even existed, but well. Will wasn't a professional burglar, and he had no desire to become one. Moreover, the way he had acted had at least kept him from being seen anywhere near the mansion.

Will allowed himself a moment of respite, then he started to move.

Or, to teleport himself to the closest open window, to be accurate. Not that teleporting wasn't moving... Actually, he had no idea about that, and it certainly wasn't the moment to wonder about it.

It had taken the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ more than a decade to get a grasp at teleporting. Davy Jones had made it look all easy, but the tentacular cursed man had had over two centuries to practice. Teleporting wasn't easy, no matter how it looked. The hardest thing being, adjusting to the instant change of surroundings before anything bad happened. Such as, losing your footing and falling into the sea. Or getting a sword in the eye that hadn't been directed at you at all. Both accidents had happened to Will, and he could testify that having an eye pierced wasn't pretty, even when it healed in a matter of seconds.

Anyway, Will was now ninety-one years old, even if he didn't look like it. He had had time to practice, and nothing else to do too many times. Advanced healing came on its own, as well as sensing haunted place and things, but teleporting and passing through things had to be done willingly. As for calling for the help of the dead and making a sea monster listen to his will, the blacksmith hadn't really had an opportunity or a reason to practice these abilities. It wasn't as if he wanted to have a pet kracken like Jones.

So the young man, for that was what he looked like, the young man had decided he'd rather teleport on this whole burglary expedition, just in case. If he ended up in the same room as someone he hadn't been able to see from where he had been before, he'd just teleport out before the person could register he hadn't actually been an hallucination.

He hoped it would work.

Truly.

He didn't want to be hanged for breaking in the governor's house, for an obvious reason, that was being killed, and for another reason that was a bit less obvious, the fact being he wouldn't actually die of it and many people would notice that and start yelling “Witchcraft!”, and possibly, “Let's burn him!!!”.

Will didn't like being burned alive, as he had discovered at thirty-seven, when the _Dutchman_ had inexplicably caught fire in the middle of the night as he had gone back to the world of the living to collect some souls. And to top it all, it had taken him all the following day to magically restore the ghost ship to her former state... that wasn't so great to begin with. Strangely enough, Will had found a suspicious looking headscarf next to the place the fire had been started. The blacksmith really didn't want to know why Jack had been aboard and how he had ended up putting his ship on fire.

To go back to the first topic, he also didn't want to have to escape and never show his face again in Port Royal, for various reasons. He had lately discovered he actually enjoyed Norrington's friendship, and Will the younger and Elizabeth lived here. Moreover, in a few years, his other self's face would become like his own, and he certainly didn't want anyone to look at the younger William Turner more oddly than it was already bound to happen.

So, the best way to avoid all that was not to get caught.

He had to try two rooms before he found Elizabeth's, and once he almost ran into a maid, but other than that, the attempted burglary was going fine. Fine-ish. Fine enough. For now.

The problem, because there was a problem, obviously, became clear after thirty minutes of searching through Elizabeth's belongings, and not finding anything. Well, nothing that looked even remotely like his medallion.

William had no idea where the girl had hidden the cursed coin.

Of course, he thought as a feeling of dread invaded his heart, there was yet one place where he hadn't looked. He had looked under the bed, behind the writing desk, in the drawers, in the closet that held the girl's dresses, and he had looked for moving floorboards. Nothing.

There was only one place left, and the young man didn't want to look there. It was bad enough that he had had to check the dresses.

Will really didn't want to look at his-wife-who-wasn't-his-wife-and-was-currently-ten-years-old's undergarments.

But he had to find the medallion, sail away to the Isla de Muerta, get some blood on the bloody aztec coin, undo the curse, and maybe search for the pirates himself, so that he could get rid of them without casualties before coming back to Port Royal and his younger self.

God knew if the boy needed a parental figure, even if one as bad as himself. Will hadn't really had the opportunity to raise his children, but he'd do what he could.

Still, the blacksmith eyed the last closet that had yet to be opened warily. He would have discovered his determination was not to overcome his dread at the mere idea of looking there, if a servant hadn't interrupted his searching just then. Fortunately for Will, the young man had put everything into place right after he had moved each item and piece of furniture, knowing someone could come in any time and he couldn't leave any proof of his passage.

The blacksmith's dilemma having come to a rather drastic and unexpected ending, Will teleported into the garden he could see from the window just before the servant came in and deposited a stack of clean laundry in the dreaded closet.

From there, Will left the garden as unconspicuously as possible, feeling relieved that he hadn't had to search Elizabeth's undergarments as well asworried that it might have been the place where the medallion had been hidden.

As he walked back to the smithy, frowning, he wondered about what would happen if he couldn't get his hands on the aztec medallion. He had a pretty good idea about that, seeing as he had lived it, but in his timeline, there hadn't been an adult himself with supernatural powers to turn to. Now that there was one... him, that is, didn't that change the game quite a lot?

What if his being there changed things, but for the worst?

The blacksmith bit his lower lip, unwilling to dwell for too long on what could happen that hadn't happened the first time. What if his actions ended up killing someone that had lived? What if somehow, because of some weird and unfair twist of fate, his being here unleashed Jones on the ones he cared for, or gave to Cutler Beckett the opportunity to get even more powerful?

What if...?

Will's eyes fell on the familiar uniform of one particular lieutenant down the street, and his heart clenched.

The young man turned into another street, his mind filled with the fate of James Norrington, eleven years from now.

James had died saving Elizabeth. Even if the man had done unforgivable things before that, it didn't change the fact that James Norrington was dead.

Will hadn't been the man's friend at the time. More of a rival, really. Speaking of which, maybe he should try to get James' attention onto someone else than Elizabeth, this time around. It was bad enough that his younger self would have to deal with their differences in status. More so that Will fully intended to make it so that the kidnapping of Elizabeth wouldn't happen, meaning no heroic rescue either, and no almost-heart-to-heart on the _Interceptor_ , no fight in the treasure cave, and no heroic rescue of Captain Jack Sparrow. Making the children's lives easier would, in a way, make it harder for them to find each other.

That is, if he succeeded in getting rid of Barbossa, if Jack didn't find a way into their lives anyway, and if William the younger and Elizabeth didn't end up into some kind of trouble of their own making.

Oddly enough, Will felt it wouldn't be so easy for him to make them live peaceful lives.

Getting back to Norrington. If the timeline didn't change completely, the man would die on the _Flying Dutchman_ in eleven years, and it just happened that Will had befriended the man, and was even becoming quite fond of him. Thinking James could just die like that, and with him unable to do anything despite the fact that he had known beforehand, just didn't sit right with the blacksmith.

With who would it sit right?

More determined than ever to change the future for the better, Will arrived to the smithy. He had banished all thoughts of a dead James Norrington out of his mind, as well as any fear of something going askew at some point and an innocent having to pay up for the changes of fates. The worry would come back soon enough, and he would certainly feel guilty over his decision more than once in the future, but one had to make a move to matter to the world.

William had been given an unexpected chance to change things, and he would try to.

Andrew Brown greeted him as he walked into the forge. The man was still a bit unnerved with not being the owner of the place anymore, but he already seemed to breath more easily, as if a heavy weight had been pulled off his shoulders. If not having to worry as much about bankruptcy was getting him this happy, Will was fairly certain this particular decision wouldn't backfire. If they were to be lucky, both himself and his other self wouldn't have to deal with a drunk Mister Brown other than on the occasional day of feast.

“Have you seen the children?”

“William ran out as soon as the governor's daughter told him about the beach and sea shells. Since it's sunday, I didn't stop them.”

Brown glanced at the darkening sky through the window.

“Maybe you should go and get them. It seems like it's going to rain heavily before long.”

Will nodded, and went in search of cloaks.

“We'll be back for dinner, if not sooner.”

The young man walked down the streets to the beach, knowing very well where Elizabeth's favorite's spot was. She had shown it to him one month after the _Dauntless_ had sailed in the port of the city, and many times, when they had not been able to see each other anymore, his teenage self would come down and stare at the sea from there, hoping the girl from his dreams would happen to come here at the same time. It had never happened, of course. It wasn't proper for a young lady to wander on the beach alone.

A crash of thunder came to his ears, but it was still far away, out there, on the sea.

Will looked up and at the sky. He'd have to take Elizabeth back to her home. Dark clouds were gathering over Port Royal; Brown was right, it would rain heavily this night.

Maybe even before that.

His mind went back to the medallion, as his feet first touched the sand. Where had Elizabeth possibly hidden it? She had told him, so many years ago, that she had feared he was a pirate, and that it was the reason she had taken it. Surely because of the skull on the medallion, he mused, though it hadn't occurred to him at the time. Elizabeth wouldn't have let it in plain sight.

He shuddered, thinking about what the governor and Norrington could have concluded if they had seen the medallion before Elizabeth. Would they have even let him explain it was the only gift from his father he still had?

It wasn't that the skull on the medallion really was a pirate emblem. No, in fact, it was an aztec one, and Will was pretty sure they wouldn't have made the mistake. It wasn't as if pirates had their own currency, with skulls on it, just in case you weren't sure who you were dealing with.

The problem was that normal people didn't have gold coins, with or without a skull on it, hanging from their neck. And they surely didn't have ancient gold coins with a skull on it hanging from their neck. It was obvious the medallion came from an old treasure, and such treasure were generally in the hands of pirates.

Thanks God for Elizabeth taking the medallion.

Will finally found the children, playing on the beach, and then he knew why he hadn't found the medallion in the girl's room. He could sense it. She had it with her. There was no stealing it, then...

 


	12. Parting gift

Will the younger and Elizabeth ran into the forge, laughing at their last adventure. Will the older looked up from his work, and smiled at the children. The boy was completely soaked in salted water, but he still had a big grin on his face.

“How was the water?”

His younger self's grin turned into a half-hearted scowl.

“Elizabeth pushed me in the sea, but she won't admit it!”

Will arched an eyebrow at the kids, while the girl sent a resentful glance at the boy.

“I did not. You fell on your own.”

The blacksmith sighed, and put down his hammer. His work was finished anyway.

Will was about to say something, but the gesture had caught the attention of his other self, who stared curiously at the beautiful sword his “big brother” had been making.

William's face fell as he recognized it.

“So it's done?”

Will the older smiled faintly, knowing very well why his younger self wasn't really happy with the fact. Knowing did nothing to make him change his mind, of course. He had to go and talk to Tia Dalma, no matter how much he wished to stay with the child. The blacksmith just had no idea of what his being in the past might lead to, and he didn't wish to learn it the hard way.

“It's done.”

He put the sword with the two other special weapons he had been making as gifts for those who had helped him lately. One was for James, another for the captain Portwell, and the last one... Well, Jack hadn't exactly helped him lately, in fact he didn't even know who Will was, but the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was here thanks to the pirate. Without Jack, he'd be dead-dead, and not undead / immortal / kind-of-whatever-he-was. He owed him that sword, if anything.

Even more so that since Jack had already lost the _Black Pearl_ , the odds were high that the pirate was more or less as broke as when they had met / would meet / anyway each other in his past timeline. Only remembering about the good-for-nothing cutlass Jack had been using at the time made Will cringe in disgust.

Elizabeth reached to touch the sword, but Will the younger got in the way. The boy lived in a smithy, and he knew not to touch at the sharp and shiny things. Will and Mr Brown had been more than precise as to what could happen if they found him playing with the blades...

Seeing the girl's startled face, the child blushed and muttered something about it not being safe, before turning back to his “big brother”.

“Do you really have to leave?”

The grown man sighed and passed his left hand in his long hair. Then he crouched to be able to look the boy in the eyes.

“We've talked about that before, William. I'll be back in less than a year, I promise.”

The blacksmith knew it wasn't a convincing point, if only because to his younger self, six or seven months would possibly feel like years to him. But he couldn't promise better. After all, the trips between the islands he intended to go to wouldn't just make themselves less lengthy even if he asked for it to happen. He also feared what his continued presence next to his younger self could provoke in the child's personality. He was quite proud of who he had become, and while he didn't want his other self to know the hardships he had encountered, he had the nagging feeling he'd just spoil the kid rotten.

And if there was one thing Will didn't want to be the cause of, it was turning himself into a jerk.

Not that he believed it might happen, but still.

The boy grunted something rude, and ran off to their room. Will and Elizabeth looked at him before sharing a smirk.

The girl then stared in the direction her friend had taken, confident in her analysis of the situation.

“He'll come out for dinner.”

Will raised an eyebrow, but didn't deny it.

“And how would you know that?”

Elizabeth then eyed him rather disbelievingly. She frowned a bit, as if trying to decide whether the blacksmith was being serious or not, and apparently coming to the conclusion that he indeed was, she answered his question.

“He's a boy. Boys always come for dinner. It's in their nature.”

Will stiffled a laugh at that. He was quite certain she was right about the nature of boys in general.

She then added, not looking at him no matter how much she wanted to. Elizabeth knew she was being jealous for nothing, but her friend really liked the adult, and she had already guessed her free time with Will would soon be cut short. It had been twice that week that she had heard comments about how improper it was for her to play with a blacksmith's brother, and the girl was far from stupid. When the gossip would get to her father, he'd make sure she had enough things to occupy her time without having to actually have time for a friend.

The more time Will spent with Wilhem, the less she could spend with her friend.

But Elizabeth was a Miss, though a child, and she had been brought up well enough not to let her jealousy be seen. It would have been unbecoming.

“Besides, Will wouldn't bear it if he couldn't see you once more before you left.”

Something in her tone must have been less hidden than she thought, because the blacksmith's smile faltered a bit as he caught her gaze. She flushed a bit, but didn't look away.

Will sighed again, and turned back to the swords. He had to get two of them to their future owners before leaving, but they weren't the only gifts he had to give in Port Royal. He shut the wooden boxes closed, not willing to see any child lose their fingers to the sharp edges, just in case. Then he searched for another box, that had been pushed back under the workbench when his younger self had run into it a few minutes prior.

Elizabeth watched curiously as the blacksmith took three of the four boxes with him. Will hadn't told her what Carter meant to do with those swords he was making, but she guessed he was going to deliver them. No, what interested her was what he was going to do with the other box.

It was small, so small there surely wasn't any kind of blade in it, except maybe a razor or something like that. Not even a dagger would fit in it. So what was it?

The girl suddenly registered Carter was looking at her as if waiting for her to do or say something.

“Your father will be expecting you, Miss Swann.”

Oh. How silly of her. She had forgotten she had to get home.

Really careless, if she might think so. Especially considering she was trying not to make it too obvious she was spending time with a blacksmith's apprentice. She had figured keeping herself from being late or arriving home disheveled, not that she ever was, mind you, could be a way to delay her father's notice of any friendship improper of Elizabeth Swann's status, and so, getting her a bit more time with Will.

Meaning, she'd better not forget about this kind of things anymore.

“Yes, of course.”

They walked up to the governor's mansion, as they always did, since it wasn't really cautious of her to just walk around the city alone. Wilhem Carter had offered to accompany her back for the first time three weeks ago, and she hadn't said no. The girl was quite sure even that wouldn't stop her father from having a fit if he learned how she was sneaking out every time she could do so, but maybe it could lessen the extent of said hypothetical fit.

When they got in sight of the mansion, Elizabeth was surprised by the blacksmith actually giving her the wooden box as a parting gift. She hadn't expected to be given anything at all.

The girl had to refrain from opening the box right now right here. She really had to go.

“Thank you, sir.”

The blacksmith almost looked shocked at the way she adressed him, but there was a glint of mirth in his eyes.

“Well, go, then. And don't worry, it's only a little silver pendant. You can even put it on a bracelet if you don't want to wear it as a necklace.”

Elizabeth wondered why Carter had gone so far as to give her a silver pendant that he had most surely made himself, but she reminded herself that it wouldn't do to be late, so she rushed to the mansion. She really wanted to know what shape the pendant was, but if she didn't get ready she'd be late for dinner. And that was totally not going to happen...

Will watched as the girl went back home, a nostalgic smile on his face. He had copied a pendant he had found on the _Dutchman_ and given to Elizabeth for the twentieth year of their wedding. In other words, the third day he had seen her since they had been wed.

After a few minutes, he shook himself out of the memory, and walked to the fort. He knew that Portwell and James had returned with the _Dauntless_ only this morning. It was better than he had expected. He wouldn't have to wait for their return before leaving Port Royal.

The blacksmith waited not far from the entrance of the fort, hoping one of the two officers would walk out before long. He wasn't sure what to say to the guards if they didn't. He certainly didn't have an official reason for being here. Eventually he drifted off and back into memory land. It happened, sometimes.

Fortunately, Charles Portwell spotted him sitting against a wall with his two wooden boxes, lost in his thougths, as he was leaving the fort. The Navy captain frowned, and walked over to Wilhem Carter.

“Are you waiting for the lieutenant, perhaps?”

Will was once again startled out of his thoughts, and he jumped on his feet with an agility that surprised the Navy man quite a bit.

“Captain Portwell! No, actually, I wanted to see you... and James too, I admit it. The point being, I am leaving Port Royal for Tor... for now, and I made these as a mean to thank you to for... finding me back then.”

Will was aware he was starting to ramble a bit, so he simply opened the box meant for the captain, just to keep himself from saying something stupid. He really ought not to drift off so easily. He didn't want to slip and let a Navy captain hear he was heading to Tortuga as he had almost done just now, or worse, to say something he wasn't supposed to know because it had not happened yet. It would simply not do, if that happened.

Portwell eyed him curiously for a moment, but soon enough his attention was taken by the splendid short sword in the box.

The hilt was golden and striated with blue lines, though the captain had absolutely no idea how it could be done. The blade was a bit longer than that of a normal short sword, he mused, pleased that the blacksmith had noticed his actual sword was just this way too; somehow, Charles Portwell could fight better with such a blade. Finally, the Navy Captain saw his initials in the metal.

He looked up with surprise at the blacksmith who was handing him the box.

“I... Well, I must say I am surprised, Mr Carter. I'll try to use this fine work of art for the best causes. It would be a shame if it fell between the wrong hands.”

Carter winced slightly at what Portwell had just implied.

“Yes, captain, please do try not to be killed by a ruffian any time soon.”

It was sadly a possibility, in the captain's line of work, both of them thought sourly.

Portwell accepted the sword, still marveling at the unexpected gift and at the fact that the blacksmith the _Dauntless_ had rescued actually had the means to offer such an expensive gift to someone he barely knew.

“The lieutenant Norrington is still occupied with... paperwork. I don't think he has left the fort yet. I'll fetch him, if that's alright with you, Mr Carter?”

Charles Portwell was pretty certain the blacksmith had been about to retort, something along the lines of “don't bother...”, unless it was more something like “you shouldn't...”, but the captain left him no such chance and walked back to the fort before anything could be said. With the magnificent sword he had just gotten from Wilhem Carter for nothing more than getting him from a cay in the middle of the Carribeans, fetching James Norrington was the least he could do. Even more so considering the lieutenant was likely to be getting a sword just as splendid as his own.

Charles Portwell wasn't stupid, and he certainly wasn't deaf nor blind. He had seen the growing friendship between the blacksmith and his lieutenant, and even if it had surprised him, he saw no reason to warn off Norrington. On the contrary, the lieutenant seemed to relax a bit more since he had started talking with Wilhem Carter, and it could only be for the better. Even if he worked for the Navy, the captain Portwell was well known for his good and benevolent personality. The over-stuck-up James Norrington still succeeded in getting on his nerves from time to time.

Portwell reached his lieutenant's office, and was not surprised to see the young man still glaring at the files on his desk as if they had offended him personally. The Navy officer's hand was more likely to be described as torturing the piece of paper under it than as writing on it, and the man's jaws were clenched together.

Norrington was obviously remembering how half of the pirate crew they had encountered two days before had misteriously gotten away in the night, and this piece of paper that was in agony under his squill was surely the report on the incident.

“Lieutenant, I think you can call it a day. Those pirates are far away, now, and they won't turn up in their cells even if you hand me this report right now.”

Startled, Norrington glared up at whoever it was that had talked him out of the important task he was performing... And his glare subdued when he realized it was his superior. A bit.

“I have nothing more urgent to do, captain. I might as well finish this.”

Portwell ignored the fierce green eyes that were still glaring at him, even if he was quite sure the lieutenant hadn't meant to sound so contemptuous. He had learned a long time ago that Norringtion just couldn't help it. And it was one of the reasons why he was so pleased with the friendship between Carter and the man. It could only help at that point.

“Actually you have. Wilhem Carter is outside, waiting for you with a rather... promising gift, if the one I got when I am no more than an acquaintance is anything to go by.”

And Portwell pointed ever so subtly at the sword box under his arm.

The lieutenant's brow furrowed for a moment, then his eyes lit up in wonder.

“Just go. You'll finish this report tomorrow.”

As he said that, Portwell noticed that the glint in Norrington's eyes had darkened, as if an afterthought had replaced the curiosity.

“So he's leaving.”

“You know of that?”

“Yes. Wilhem didn't say where he was going, only that he wasn't planning on staying in Port Royal for his forging business. He said he'd come back once or twice a year. I personally don't see what's the problem with staying here, but what do I know, it's not as if he had any reasons to stay.”

The lieutenant scowled, to the captain's great amusement.

“Such as young William Turner.”

Or such as having a friend in Port Royal, on top of a nearly-adopted-little-brother. Portwell didn't voice that thought. He didn't fancy getting glares from his lieutenant for the whole next week. Norrington's glares could be mighty, when the man put his heart to it.

“He must have his reasons, and there are already many smithies in town. Maybe he doesn't believe the concurrence is worth it.”

Damn. Charles Portwell should have known not to say this. Now, there was no avoiding the mighty glares of James Norrington for the next week, then.

The captain excused himself, only reminding the lieutenant that no matter how he felt about it, Carter was still waiting for him outside. It got him another glare from hell, obviously.

James Norrington glanced one last time at the offending report, and decided to leave it for the day. Between two irritating things, that is, said offending report and Carter, the one that actually reacted when he glared at him seemed to be the best choice to vent his anger upon.

By the time the lieutenant had reached the entrance of the fort, his frustration had only grown more irritating. Strangely enough, the feeling fell silent as soon as he saw Wilhem, waiting for him just a bit further away, a wooden box similar to Portwell's under his arm.

The short sword Will had made for James was very different from the commodore's, just in case Will the younger got to do that one in this timeline too. They ended up dueling a bit, one last time.

The blacksmith eventually went back to the smithy for dinner, and gave a parting gift to William too. A silver sword pendant, matching the one he kept on a leather strip at his left wrist. A brother's promise.

 


	13. A very familiar hat

The first thing Will did after having left the small ship that had taken him to Tortuga, was to step aside. A drunken man tripped down and collapsed on the dock just where the blacksmith had been standing. Obviously used to such antics, the sailors from the ship Will had taken walked around the drunkard with their merchandise without so much as one word.

Remembering quite well the city, William wasn't much surprised either. He arched an eyebrow at the drunk man, a bit mocking, and smirked before leaving the docks.

The blacksmith had boarded the _Lenora_ in Port Royal knowing full well that though Tortuga wasn't exactly on the ship's official journey, she would go there nonetheless. The captain had recently found out that as long as he didn't stay docked for more than one night, the benefits far surpassed the risks. And Will needed to get to Tortuga, if possible without the Navy knowing about it. It wouldn't do if James learned he had taken a ship which first destination was the pirate haven.

His remaining money safely hidden in his right pant leg, a wooden box under his left arm, and his hand near the handle of his sword, the blacksmith entered the drunken chaos of the main city of Tortuga. He wasn't as innocent as the first time around, sure, and he had gotten used to worse than Tortuga since, true, but it did not mean he liked the place more than before. Only, now, instead of jumping out of the way when some wench fell to the ground in alcoholic laughter, or when two ruffians started a fight, William moved swiftly out of the way as if he had lived in such chaos all his life. He simply wasn't surprised anymore.

The day was waning when Will reached the _Twelve Daggers_. He wasn't sure why exactly he thought going there would be a good idea, but he had searched for a ship that would take him to Tia Dalma all day... And unsurprisingly, none had been available for a journey ending up river. Cuba was alright, but all the way to the witch's den? No one. And that when they didn't even know who the witch really was...

Of course, Will could have gone to Tia Dalma from any point of Cuba, so if he couldn't find someone brave enough to take him there, he'd take another ship and would just sail for Cuba, no particular destination. But if he could avoid walking all the way in the jungle, it would be for the best. And alright, it wasn't as if the locals, man-eating or not, could do him any definitive harm. But he'd still rather not risk even temporary harm. Being eaten alive, particularly when you couldn't die, wasn't exactly something he was eager to experiment.

So for the first few days, he had decided to see if anyone here had guts. Considering they were truthworthy enough not to try and con him in some way, maybe knocking him out once the ship had sailed, then robbing him, then throwing him to the sea for the sharks to eat. Unfortunately, the people in Tortuga who had guts were mostly perfect representants of the unstrustworthy.

As his search of the day had been fruitless, Will had decided to get something to drink, and going to a tavern was definitely the best way to do that. After that, he thought he could go somewhere outside of town, where he was less likely to be assaulted or robbed or both for the only reason that he was present. The nights were warm enough, and he could definitely sleep on a branch, out of reach, that is, if it came to that.

He hated having his throat cut during the night by some criminal, be it pirate or thief or psycho. If he didn't wake up on the spot, his shirt was always ruined the next morning, and generally he didn't have any money left. Of course, he had the rare chance to still be alive afterwards. It didn't change the fact that the two times it had happened in the past, he had had to find the culprits to get his sword back, too. Said culprits had been quite surprised to see him alive and punching.

But as Will got his drink and looked around the tavern, half wondering what had gotten James here of all places the first time around, his eyes fell on a very familiar hat.

The tavern was smelly, noisy and ill-frequented, but Will did not take any notice of it. When he brought his drink to his lips, he had already forgotten what it was that he had asked for, and he barely registered the taste of alcohol on his tongue. A whore looked at him appreciatively, but he ignored her.

He was too busy, for now.

For now, the blacksmith stared blankly at the back of the man who wore the very familiar hat, pushing away without even noticing what was going on the teenage scamp who had just tried to get his hands on the wooden box he had kept with him all the time.

Then the wannabe thief thought he could attempt stealing the box once more, as the young man had seemingly not really noticed him, and just pushed him back per chance. Will's eyes snapped back on the teen, and before the youngster could try anything, a sword was at his throat.

“Get away, boy, and don't try again, or you will not like the results.”

The teenager's gaze went up from the box to the face of its owner, and gulped. He could feel the blade against his skin, held just so that it wasn't drawing blood, but would if he moved not even one inch close. His eyes met the man's, and the youth inexplicably felt that this wasn't just any man.

“Sorry sir.”

And he backed away.

Will watched the teen leave for another tavern, where he would maybe be luckier, and where the patrons would hopefully not notice his thieving fingers.

Then he turned his attention back to the very familiar hat. His eyes travelled back and forth between the wooden box and the man with the hat, as if Will couldn't really believe his luck.

Really, he had thought he'd have to go through half of the Caribbean, most of the China Sea, then somewhere around Spain, before coming back to Tortuga and hear, there, that he had barely missed Jack Sparrow who would have just left once again for Singapore... or France, depending on the rumors.

It had just seemed to be the natural order of things: when you search for Jack Sparrow, Jack Sparrow is on the other side of the world... and coming towards where you are right now, to arrive only days after you left.

But no, Jack was here, at the _Twelve Daggers_ , just the day Will had arrived on Tortuga.

It felt a bit surreal, to say the truth.

Apparently he wouldn't have to search for the pirate after his journey to Tia Dalma's...

Will eyed his drink, finding it wonderfully half-full, which meant he didn't have to get another one to have an excuse and stay around for a bit more. As now was as good as any other time to talk with Jack, he made his way to join the lone pirate at his table.

It actually helped that the captain-without-a-ship-but-whatever was alone, and more than likely already a bit drunk. Maybe even utterly wasted.

Because the facts were, William Turner had a gift for the pirate. A thank-you for saving his life and all that. In other words, a cutlass made by himself, and not the half-rusted... thing Jack used these days. The blacksmith wrinkled his nose as he saw the... thing. It was even worse than the very normal, very plain blade the pirate had had / would have when they first met / would first meet.

But the facts were also that Jack didn't know, at this point in time, who William Turner was.

Not this William Turner, at least, since Jack Sparrow had known Bootstrap for some time already. And even if he knew who Will was, after all, it was possible that his father had mentioned him once or twice back in the days, this version of Will wasn't the right age. And Jack wouldn't know why Will Turner Jr. wanted to give him an expensive sword. It wasn't as if he had already saved his life.

Will still felt it was the right thing to do, to give this sword to Jack. The pirate might not have been the most honest man on Earth, but he was definitely not the worst person either. He might even be a better person than some “decent” people. “Decent” people like Beckett, for example. Beckett might oficially be on the side of the law, but he wasn't a good man for all that. Far from it, even.

It just felt right, to thank Jack for what he had done for Will, even if this Jack hadn't done it yet.

So it was definitely better that way, with Jack alone and slightly drunk. Because even if the pirate wanted to know why some stranger would give him something expensive without apparent reason, and let's be honest, Jack Sparrow wasn't exactly someone to refuse a gift even if he saw no reason for him to deserve it, and because even if the pirate somehow managed to recognize Will's likeness to his father, Jack would surely put it on account of the drinks he had had, or even forget it altogether. And if he started asking questions... Well, it would be easier to deal with lying to a drunken Jack Sparrow than to a sober Jack Sparrow.

Considering that Jack could actually be sober, William mused. He still wasn't sure he had ever witnessed Jack being totally clear of alcoholic influence, if only because the man drank so much he'd still smell of rum after two baths and three weeks without beverage.

Will did not sit on the other side of the table, choosing rather to stand behind the chair.

It was only when he put his wooden box on the table that Jack looked up from his tank.

The pirate's gaze took a time to focus on him, and Will rolled his eyes in the meantime. Trust Jack to be drunk at this hour. Then again, it was Tortuga. The first half of the population was on its way to drunkenness at six in the afternoon, and the other half either was providing the alcohol or already drunk.

Jack squinted at the two strangers who stood behind his table, trying to see them a bit less blurry. For a time he thought they were twins... before he understood there was in fact only one man. One man, who seemed to want something from him, if the box he had pushed towards the pirate and the look on his face were anything to go by. His face, which looked somewhat... Somehow... Quite a bit... Possibly... familiar.

When the pirate spoke, he was slurring. Not that he noticed, of course.

“You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?”

This almost made Will snort. So much for originality, he thought wryly, even if it could actually be the first time Jack Sparrow said those words, in this timeline... But Will doubted it for some reason.

“Not yet, if you must know. Because you're drunk, Jack.”

Understatement of the century. When was Jack Sparrow not drunk? Futile question, truly, and unsurprising answer, as stated beforehand.

Though the fact that Jack was drunk had no influence whatsoever on the resemblance between William Turner the first and William Turner the second, of course. If it affected anything at all, it was the pirate's ability to recognize that resemblance for what it was, or else he wouldn't have wondered to whom exactly Will looked similar to, he'd have known.

Because really, the resemblance was striking. Of course, Will wasn't a perfect copy of his father. His mother had giving him softer features, amongst other thing, as if her influence had been to soothe over Bill Turner's razor sharp looks. Nonetheless, there was no asking of whom he was the son.

Luckily for William, Jack was drunk. Not that it was much luck, as Jack was always drunk. But lucky it still was, for Jack to be this drunk, maybe.

The pirate's eyes rolled, almost as if on their own, and the man touched his forehead with two fingers, making himself jerk back in surprise. After that, Jack stared a moment at his own fingers. Then he looked back at Will, cross-eyed.

Yes, very drunk.

“Am I?”

“You are.”

Jack hiccuped, and mumbled under his breath, a stupid smile on his face.

“'Wouldn't be surprising.”

Will looked away. Jack's teeth definitely weren't things he wanted to look at right now. For one, they were filthy. Second thing, the pirate hadn't yet his gold tooth, and so there was a black hole in his smile, which was truly disturbing for the blacksmith. Thirdly, Jack flashing his teeth in a smile usually wasn't a good omen, as the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ had learned at his own expense more than once.

Either the big smile meant the pirate was going to say something inappropriate or do something stupid and reckless and pull it off God knew how, or it meant that the pirate was too drunk to act rationalish and so was going to say something inappropriate or do something stupid and reckless, and that not always with positive results.

Rationalish, because Jack Sparrow didn't do rational.

Well, this time, Jack couldn't do something too bad, could he?

Will shivered, and forced himself not to think so. Trying to reassure himself wasn't going to make Jack's very presence less of an incentive for chaos. Even the pirate's simple existence tended to cause something, and that was when he stayed still. Will was not going to jinx it by thinking it couldn't get bad in some way.

At least, if something happened, he would be reactive.

Unlike the pirate-captain-without-a-ship who was currently on his way to drown himself in his drink successfully. Will sighed, and snatched Jack's tank. The pirate protested heartfully.

“Hey, swab! Give that back!”

The blacksmith kept the tank well away from the pirate's reach, ignoring the outraged looks the latter was now giving him. Instead, he raised both eyebrows and smirked at Jack.

“Swab, really?”

The pirate grumbled, and gave up his chase for his tank of rum... for now. Jack's eyes wouldn't leave the container even as he talked to the blacksmith. Now Will was certain he wouldn't care enough about his physical likeness to someone he knew and had momentarily forgotten in his drunken stupor.

“Fine, do what you want. What do you want with me anyway? And if by any chance you were a mental representation of my soberness, lad, which might explain why you look familiar, supposing you look like that other representation of my mind, mind you, which might not be the case at all eitherway, you can go back to where my conscience is currently huddled up: a dark corner of my mind! Then you wouldn't be bothering me and my drinking.”

Will's eyebrows raised even higher, as he suddenly remembered Jack's tendency with longues sentences. He had not forgotten, however, the man's habit to say things that didn't make sense, as well as his inclination to speak with mental representations of his mind, according to the man's very words.

“Jack Sparrow, while I believe you have a conscience, somewhere in there, I highly doubt you ever possessed such a thing as a soberness. Now, I am a representation of neither, and I am simply here to deliver a gift.”

The pirate chortled as his eyes zeroed away from the tank of rum and onto the wooden box on the table, that he had completely forgotten. His face betrayed his desire to see what was in it, but he kept himself from acting right away.

“A gift for the old Jack, how surprising! I certainly hope it isn't something like a severed arm from one of my victims, sent to me as a warning of impending revenge, it would not be pleasant. Speaking of which, who sent you, and for what purpose? No one offers anything to the old Jack anymore. Poor little me, feeling so unwanted!”

Will was obviously not buying his future / former friend's antics, as he looked at the man disbelievingly, and he certainly wasn't bothered by the blade which was now touching his left hand, that rested on the table. The fact that no injury would ever affect him for more than a moment surely had its perks, when it came to keeping a calm front during an attempt at intimidation.

“Cut it with the theatrics, 'Captain' Sparrow. I am my own man, and the gift is from me. You will understand when the time comes, if it must come. Maybe you will never know, but be sure that you won't regret this gift.”

With his right hand, the blacksmith lifted the rusted blade of Jack's old cutlass away from his left hand, and went to open the box. The pirate was still eyeing him suspiciously, and the cutlass had not gone out of sight, but William didn't care. Even if he could have been actually wounded, as in, long-time wounded, Jack was too drunk right now to aim properly. Will would surely have the time to get out of harm's reach, if it came to that.

Jack's eyes widened when he took in the subtle work of the cutlass in the box. Later on, when his mind would be less foggy and his gaze less cross-eyed, he would notice the red of the handle actually went with his headscarf, and that there were a signature, “WTC”, and two initials, “JS”, carved in the pommel. For now, though, he could only see it was a terrific work of art.

The pirate looked up, dumbfounded, but the stranger who had left him with this expensive cutlass, really worthy of him, the great Jack Sparrow, had disappear. Jack blinked, closed the box in an access of paranoia that might not have been uncalled for given the place he was in, and finished his tank of rum, which was miraculously back in his hand.

Then the man fell asleep on the box, and spent the night at the _Twelve Daggers_ , without being, luckily for him, murdered for the money he did not have anyway.

One thing, other than the sword, reminded him of the stranger. A note, in the box: “Take a bath.”

 


	14. The witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. To be short, first summer job ever, then starting school again. All my stories were on hold.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy

Will walked out of the main town of Tortuga, feeling strangely content with what he had achieved at the _Twelve Daggers_. It really had been lucky to stumble on Jack, and to do so just when the pirate was so drunk he didn't even manage to be aware of his surroundings. Truly, the pirate had a gift with alcohol, that it did seem he couldn't be bothered with the bad effects of drinking, and only suffered the pleasant side of getting drunk. But this time, even the Great Jack Sparrow had been under the table, figuratively speaking, of course. A sight to behold.

This sight William wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

Now that he didn't have any other gift to bestow upon those who had helped him in one way or another, the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ had only one thing left to do on his important-list-for-the-future: to go and see Tia Dalma.

If anything, the goddess-turned-witch could tell him more about his situation.

Or, at least, Will hoped she would be able to. If she didn't know, after all, who would?

Anyway, this meant he had to find a ship to get him to Cuba. Still, this would wait for tomorrow, because he wasn't keen on the idea of staying in town for the night. Besides, he had other things to do, things that hadn't made it to his important-list-for-the-future, but that would nonetheless benefit him if he managed to do them right.

The man whistled a bit as he walked up a hill, heading for the small group of houses on top. He felt happy enough, lately, even if it happened that his mind would wander back to Port Royal, to his younger self, especially.

It was strange, he had to admit, but the few weeks he had spent with the boy had made him feel more like a big brother than he was supposed to feel. Then again, who else could pretend at having a relationship with their younger selves? Not many people, if any. Will was under the impression you weren't supposed to care about yourself, at least, not in that way, with you having two selves, one of them being displaced in time. So the blacksmith simply guessed it had to be the way it was meant to be, for him to feel so much like an older brother for his other self, because, well... There was no precedent to learn from.

Ah, William the second and young Elizabeth, and the commodore-who-wasn't-yet,-but-who-cares-anyway?... He would miss them, he could already be sure of that. Hell, he was already starting to miss them.

But he had things to do, peope to deal with, if Will wanted for both his selves to live happily from now on. Frankly, if he listened to himself, the man would go right to England, and twist Beckett's neck before the bastard managed to snatch the shadow of a wraith of personal power. Sadly, he wouldn't do that, because bastardly as his future could become, Beckett had yet to do anything evil or underhanded, to Will's knowledge at least, and the blacksmith didn't want to be a cold-blooded murderer. For now, Cutler Beckett was safe... But it wouldn't last if the bastard tried anything and Will knew of it.

Will walked into the small village, and his eyes immediately darted to the largest house around.

He made to walk in, but stopped. He hadn't considered that maybe, Marian wasn't living here yet. When was it that the witch had come to Tortuga, already? Ah, the old woman had ranted and ranted about it after she had ended up, drowned, on his ship, having been pushed down a cliff by someone who, unsurprisingly, didn't like witches, and surprisingly, had not been frightened enough to just leave and never come back to Tortuga.

Not that Marian was particularly powerful for a witch, but still. She was a witch. And no one liked to look at her supposedly dead eyes, which she kept under a blindfold most of the time. And what wasn't the same as them usually frightened people...

Marian had learnt how to deal with any small-timer going after her as she had learnt magic. She would be no match for someone like Tia Dalma, even stuck in human form, but she had enough power, and, more to the point, she had shown the folks around here what she could do with her magic. They usually left her alone, and Will hoped that in this altered timeline, she would be left alone until the end. The witch wasn't a bad person.

Marian Latour. Supposedly a blind witch, the villagers and the people from the harbor said, but Will knew better. He had seen it first hand, in his time. One of the two rumors was wrong.

Well, he'd have to hope Marian already lived on Tortuga, and if possible, not on the other side of the island. Will certainly wasn't going to knock at every single door asking for the resident witch until he found her. He didn't fancy being burnt to the stake.

Finally he stood before the door of the house. His eyes fell on the dead snake pinned on the door, and he smiled a bit. Unless the house had had another witch occupying it before Marian, the woman he was looking for already lived here. For once, he was granted what he wanted right away.

William knocked. Two passersby were watching him, one curiously, the other suspiciously, but well, this was Tortuga. Most people were suspicious, if only by their presence on the pirate haven island. It was to be expected to be eyed distrustfully.

“Come in.”

The voice was young, much younger than he remembered, but that wasn't surprising. Marian Latour had been seventy years old when they had met, and it had happened a few decades after his assuming the captaincy of the _Dutchman_. If Will didn't completely suck at calcul, right now, she had to be barely twenty years old, or maybe even just under that age.

He pushed the door open, earning a slow “creeeaaaak...” for the effort.

Inside, the house was well-furnished, but eerie. Only the witch lived here, and it showed; when the place was fit for a full family with three kids and a dog, it was barely lived in. There was no dust, no mess, but the place didn't feel very lively. It didn't look lived in, if anything.

In fact, just as Will thought these words, a young woman with brown hair and a purple blindfold eating half her face appeared from a small door in the shadows. For one moment, the blacksmith though she was a ghost, for she looked really fragile and otherworldly.

But, of course, past professional occupation oblige, Will had seen his fair share of ghosts, and they didn't look like that. Usually, they were a bit more... transparent, if possible grey or green, and they had horrendous reminders of their untimely death. Such as, gapping wounds, or visible rotting flesh, or water rolling out of their mouth, or...

The point was, ghosts really weren't pleasant to look at. The rare times he had encountered wandering ghosts, the former captain of the _Dutchman_ had done his best to force them to pass on. His powers allowed that, but if they were rooted to earth by a curse or something like that, it happened he couldn't do a thing.

The woman, whom, as he had guessed, could not be more than twenty years old, tilted her head at him, as if observing him, as if she could see through that blindfold. Which would mean said blindfold wasn't very efficient. It actually meant said blindfold wasn't efficient at all, let's be honest, because Marian could totally see the handsome young man standing in the entrance of her house.

She had a reason for wearing that piece of clothes and hiding her face, and it wasn't blindness.

Of course, she wasn't in any hurry to let the neighbors know. The purple fabric made them feel uncomfortable, and it was something she could appreciate. One needed to work on their image, when they were acknowledged witches. A blind woman who can still see you as if by looking at your soul was a very good image.

“I do not know you.”

The young man smiled at her, and Marian tilted her head a bit more to the left. There was something quite not right with this man, but... Ah, no matter, she really couldn't pinpoint what it was.

It just felt... wrong, though not evil. And powerful, yes, that too.

“Indeed you don't. But I do know of you, Miss Latour, and I was wondering if you'd accept a deal.”

The witch raised both eyebrows, though Will couldn't see that, blindfold taken into account.

“Of what nature, Mister...?”

“Wilhem Carter. What I wish to talk about is more of a convenient understanding than a deal, actually, but it could benefit us both, if we stick to our end of that understanding. I need a place to stay during my various passages on Tortuga, and a place where I could leave some of my things without fearing them to be stolen. I have money, if that's what you want as a compensation, but I could deal with a few other kinds of demands, as long as they are feasible.”

Marian frowned at the man, if only because he had the guts to make her an offer, at her discretion. People usually feared her, even if she hadn't done much to justify the fear, or at least they were wary of her and kept clear. People didn't come to her to make a deal with a smile, and they certainly didn't ask for a place to stay at her house.

Not that she enjoyed being feared. Left alone, yes, feared, not so much. But well.

It was just strange, that's all. Unexpected.

“A particular reason why you're asking me, and not someone else, with less of a... reputation?”

The man smiled a bit, but it wasn't mocking, nor uneasy. He simply seemed amused... Just a bit.

“You have a lot of free rooms, Miss Latour. And your reputation should keep the thieves away, if anything. I have no reason not to trust you, moreover, and you don't appear to me like someone who would go back on their word. I only ask for a room, after all.”

Marian blinked under her blindfold, and winced a bit when her damaged skin tensed around the eyes. This stranger had literally said he trusted her. No only did he not know her, but he had surely heard of her witchery...?

No one, in all the years she had spent on Tortuga, had ever simply ignored her occult activities. Even the rare people who liked her and didn't see her as a threat didn't trust her. Which wasn't surprising, considering what some witches did with their powers, and what the Church always advised to do with possible devil-worshippers.

Funny how no one on Tortuga cared about the seven deadly sins they were transgressing by the hour, and still they eyed witchcraft as if it was the greatest hint of evilness.

“I... suppose we could at least try this arrangement, until next time you come to the island.”

The young man gave her a blinding smile, and put on the nearest table a handful of gold coins.

“Perfect, Miss Latour, just perfect. If there is anything I could get you on my travels, be it ingredients or items, say, ask away and I'll see what I can do; my first journey will be to Cuba.”

“You wouldn't happen to drop by Tia Dalma's place, would you?”

Will chuckled a bit, and decided that, maybe, it would be better, more honest, if anything, to tell one thing or two about who he was to the woman who had agreed to be his landlord. He wasn't going to outright tell her he was a former captain of a ghost ship from the future, because that'd need him to explain, and he wasn't keen on explaining that to anyone, any time soon. But he could show her he wasn't a normal person, just like she wasn't a normal human.

“I have some...”

Marian started. The man wasn't anywhere in sight, but she hadn't seen him move. He had... disappeared. Just like that.

A movement to her right made her jump a bit.

“...informations I need to make sense of, if you get my meaning.”

Wilhem Carter was right here, standing next to her, five feets from where he had been standing before that. Marian suddenly understood why he had felt so different, so... wrong, when she had first looked at him, and the witch's expression became guarded.

This person didn't seem to wish her ill, but the young woman knew better than to assume. He had shown her some of his own powers, but certainly not all of it. And from what she knew of witchcraft, and obviously, she knew quite a bit, this wasn't magic. No witch, no magician could do something like that. Enchanted objects, hexes and wards, that they could do. Teleporting, not.

And if the man wasn't an user of magic, but had powers...

“What are you?”

Will smiled a bit, and took a step back from the witch. He wasn't really surprised by the question.

“Passing by, nothing more. But if you were asking about what kind of being I am... Well, that's one of the reasons I need to see Tia Dalma, to ask about it. I wasn't exactly told how things would go on, after I ended up... like that.”

Or, more accurately, after he had ended up in this time. Calypso had stopped by the _Flying Dutchman_ a few times over the years, and they had talked a bit. He knew, more or less, what his being the ferryman of the dead at sea entailled.

But he wasn't that anymore, and his heart was unaccounted for. It was even possible it didn't even exist, except for Will the second's. So, how did it work, now? Was he truly immortal? Or, and he felt ill at the thought, would he die if his younger self died? If it was the case, and someone, possibly an enemy he would have made, heard of it... Was his very existence in this time a danger to William?

The truth was, he didn't want to know. It didn't change the fact that he needed to know.

“Theoretically, I am undead, but I am not a ghost nor a revenant. I suppose I simply kept living after my death, due to some... circumstances. But I don't know what kind of being, besides 'undead', I classify as.”

Marian Latour seemed to think about it for a moment. Then she nodded, but Will could see a little hesitation in the set of her jaw.

“Tia Dalma certainly is the best to consult about that, especially in these waters.”

The witch had seemed to relax a bit, but the blacksmith could tell she wasn't trusting him for all that. Funny, how quickly the roles had reversed.

Then again, witches weren't exactly at their best against unknown supernatural beings. Those tended to have powers which could rival their magic, Will could testify, and since she didn't even know what his powers were... Let's say he would have been surprised if she hadn't been a little tense.

Marian moved over to a piece of furniture, where a collection of blades were on display.

Just in case the stranger tried anything.

Supposing it would even do something to him. She really wasn't sure about that. The undead tended not to care about wounds, or even to be able to phase through the weapons...

“To be clear, you don't eat newborns or sacrifice virgin during the full moon, do you?”

William arched an eyebrow, his eyes smiling the smile his mouth didn't show.

“Ain't that what they say of you witches?”

“Just making sure, because I don't agree with such practices. But I get your point.”

“Now that you are certain I am neither a ghoul nor a necromancer, do we seal this contract in blood, or would our word suffice?”

The witch squinted at him, and Will only gave her a smirk. She had been the one to start with the superstitions and the barbaric practices. Why couldn't he continue?

After a moment of silence, Marian Latour walked to him, and searched for a handshake. The blacksmith complied. Her grip was firm, and energetic. His was powerful and confident. If one tried to fool the other, they would not appreciate what would come afterwards. They both knew it.

“Third room on the left. And if you do actually see Tia, ask her for the serpent skins she promised me twelve years ago.”

William looked the young woman up and down. She definitely wasn't twenty years old. Eighteen. Maybe nineteen.

“Weren't you a bit too young back then to know about witchcraft?”

The woman sneered, bit it wasn't malevolent. He guessed it had more to do with how her fellow witches saw and treated her, and the sneering had become an habit. After all, she was a proefficient witch, despite her youth.

Unless she looked younger than she was? You never knew with those witches...

“Tia took me in when I was six. My parents had died, and well...”

“So you are her student.”

Surprising. The Marian from his time hadn't told anything about being the former student of the sea goddess. Then again, it wasn't something easy to bring into the conversation, even for someone currently speaking with the ferryman of the dead at sea on a ship to the afterlife. Will himself didn't present himself as an undead man first thing in the conversation. It would not end well if he did.

Marian shrugged.

“In some ways, I guess. I didn't stick around the usual ten years, so... But she did teach me a few things. And I'm still waiting for those serpent skins, twelve years after the promise.”

Will excused himself, and went to look for the said third room on the left. For now, he had nothing to leave behind, but he could do with a few hours of sleep. He didn't need that, as always, but it really was more comfortable, to live and sleep. It made him feel less like a freak, and he was almost certain his brain worked better when he took some time off, like a normal person.

He still had much to do, before he could start living again, but he had years to do it.

 


	15. The passenger

The day had started as any other for the crew of the _Crimson Lady_. The captain had staggered out of the cheap place he had spent the night at, slurring a promise of coming back next time to a young woman who didn't seem impressed at all. The first mate had woken up with the pigs without any exact memories of what had happened during the night. The other members of the crew shared a terrible headache. Their general wealth had gotten down, too, except for Julian Smith, who, as always, had cheated his way into winning every game.

Nothing out of the usual, in other words.

Julian Smith walked down the streets and arrived at the ship, sporting a striking black eye. Because they could never prove that he had cheated didn't mean they never suspected him of doing so. It didn't matter, because Smith still had the money.

The young man grinned. If he hadn't been in Tortuga, he would have been throwing and catching his gains in amusement, yet he knew better. Here, it would be asking for trouble.

He caught sight of the _Crimson Lady_ , and frowned.

The captain was on deck, speaking with a young man he had never seen before. A handful of coins changed hands, and the captain gestured to the general direction of somewhere-on-the-ship,-just-out-of-my-way. The stranger nodded, took his leave, but did not get down the ship.

Julian made sure the captain wasn't seeing him, because he didn't feel like doing chores yet today. He joined a crewmate, and whispered.

“Who's that?”

“The captain just accepted a passenger.”

“He did?”

“He did.”

“What happened to the no-strangers-aboard-my-smuggling- _Lady_ policy? I thought he didn't want anyone to see what we are transporting?”

“Apparently the price that guy paid choked the captain's protests in his throat.”

Julian turned around and looked at the stranger, now sitting against a barrel with no worries in the world. The man looked young, perhaps younger than Julian himself, but he certainly was charming. While he presented like a working man, the details didn't fit. His clothes weren't ostentatious, but even someone who knew nothing about that could tell they were of quality. He had a great blade by his side, the kind that cost a lot. And most importantly, he wasn't filthy.

Hard to come buy someone clean when in Tortuga, because cleanliness didn't last around here. Especially not in the main town.

“Or the captain is hoping that one of us will murder the guy in his sleep, and that, as a perfectly respectable employee, they will share what's to gain. Wasn't he looking to upgrade from his old boring cutlass to something a little bit fancier?”

The crewmate glanced at the stranger's sword, then back at Julian. He shrugged.

“Or that.”

“Yeah, 'thought so too.”

There was a moment of silence, which the crewmate spent staring at the retreating back of their captain, while Julian struggled with the stranger's face. He had the feeling he had already met the man, just when he had started doing business in smuggling. But it had been six years ago, and the man had surely been a teenager back then, so it didn't make any sense.

Julian would have remembered a teenager who looked like that.

A door slammed behind the captain's back. The other sailor snorted.

“Honestly, where do you think Crowder got the idea anyone here was a model employee?”

Two drunk sailors chose that very moment to make a rumbustious come back to the _Crimson Lady_. These two never stopped drinking each time they got a foot on land. Julian could see were his crewmate's doubts came from.

Not that there was much of a doubt at this point.

“The reason why Captain Crowder is counting on our honesty, Miles, is the same as always. Who does not share gets their throats sliced.”

“Wasn't it 'he who does not share shall present his throat bare'?”

“Right, that.”

Both sailors nodded sagely, and decided, as always, to play it safe. Randolf Crowder wasn't someone they wanted to cross on his own ship, and he was the one paying them, which gave them two reasons not to do anything stupid. After all, it wasn't like they could hide the facts if anything happened to the passenger while aboard, and pretend that no, he must have stabbed himself in the chest and jumbed in the sea all on his own. If the passenger unfortunately lost his life during the journey, Crowder would make sure that the loot was fairly distribuited.

Meaning, the better half for the captain, and the others could fight over what was left.

Ah, the charming life of a smuggler in the Caribbean!

The first three days of the journey went well. No one had yet tried to murder the passenger in his sleep, though. Or, if they had tried, they hadn't succeeded because every morning he'd walk up on deck and go to the same barrel as the days before, where he'd spend the day thinking, or turning a wedding ring hanging around his neck between his fingers. But it was unlikely that the man would stay quiet if someone had already tried to kill him, so Julian thought no one had made the move yet.

He could see Crowder becoming agitated, too. Perhaps if they waited a bit more, the captain would do the dirty job himself. His eyes sure weren't leaving the passenger's sword for long...

Then again, if the captain had to go and do the job himself, there was no guarantee that the crew would get anything from the loot. The captain's rules, evidently, didn't apply to the captain.

That's why, on the fourth day at dawn, the crew, minus Crowder, came together.

They wanted to be sure they'd get something out of this, if anything.

It all went in quiet whispers, in the dim light of the new day.

“I say, two of us go and pay a visit to the gentleman down there, this evening. One keeps his hands on the guy's mouth, and the other terminates him.Then we look around for anything that could be of value, we gets it up here, and when the captain'll wake up tomorrow, he'll be happy to see the loot waiting for him.”

“Of course, we'd get rid of the body beforehand. The captain doesn't like rotting bodies on his ship.”

“Obviously, Grant; no one likes the smell of rotting cadavers.”

“Who's volunteering?”

Silence.

Not that murdering someone in their sleep was much of a problem for any of them. They were common criminals: if it got them money, they did it, no matter how horrible an act it was that was needed. They had killed before, sometimes in battle, sometimes in cold blood.

But because they were ready to do about anything for a little money, didn't mean they were brave for all that. And none of them knew the passenger's fighting abilities. If he woke up and fought back, they didn't want to be the ones in danger. Because even if they were numerous enough to stop the man, no matter his skills, it could still happen that one or two sailors wouldn't see the next day.

None of them wanted it to be their case.

After a time, someone grunted in exasperation.

“Alright, if you're going to be that way... Smith and Fingers will be the ones to go.”

The volunteered tried to protest, but it was to no avail. Julian strongly suspected that was revenge for the cheating at cards, on his part. For Fingers, it was most likely because the guy had once again stolen someone else's meal, and possibly what was left of their money after Tortuga, too.

Julian let his gaze wander on his would-be partner-in-crime. He now knew that he'd be the one doing the slicing, tonight, while Fingers would do the holding down. Joy.

The other sailors slowly left the group to do their thing, or even what they were supposed to do in the first place, Julian wasn't sure. It happened, from time to time, that the crew would actually work. If not, they would all be down in the water feeding fishes for who knew how long already...

The sun was almost up when he, Miles and two other sailors found themselves isolated on the deck, speaking of this and that. Once again, the older of the group started the story of Davy Jones. It didn't seem to matter that he had already told it a few hundreds of times, apparently, because the old man never missed an opportunity.

“... And when you don't see him on the _Flying Dutchman_ , kid, then you should start to fear, because Davy Jones never lets anyone go. If his ship is here, then you are as good as dead. And if he isn't on his ship, it's because he is standing next to you already!”

“Davy Jones moves without being seen, Davy Jones moves without being heard, yeah, yeah, you said it already, old coot. Like, yesterday at lunch. Don't you ever get tired of this story?”

“It's not about moving, Miles! It's about being somewhere, and the next moment being somewhere else, just like that! That's the reason no one...”

“... ever escapes Davy Jones.”

The four sailors jumped at the unknown voice who had just finished the old man's sentence.

Just behind them, coming from the place he had been sleeping, the passenger was standing. None of them had seen him come. None of them had heard him move.

Julian hid his swallowing, and smiled tightly to the stranger.

“Can we help you with something?”

The man looked at them for a moment, before looking away and at the sky. He seemed to be thinking. About what, Julian couldn't fathom.

“No, thank you. But listen to your elder, he knows what he's talking about.

And with these enigmatic words, the stranger walked away. The older sailor stared at his retreating figure for a time, looking uneasy, still spooked by the surprise apparition of the man, too.

Julian was just as surprised, but it didn't seem so strange, in fact, when considering that the man had paid to go to Cuba, to go up river of all places. Whoever wanted to see the witch Tia Dalma had to be shady, no matter their outside looks. Charming or not, this man was either dangerous, or had dangerous ambitions.

Or perhaps he was just foolish and curious.

Still, Julian wasn't eager to go in the stranger's room and slice his throat, when he had no idea if the passenger was expecting someone to do just that, or not. Anyone boarding on a smuggling ship had to have thought about the possibility, unless they were fools. For all he knew, Fingers and him could get killed this evening.

But, they had been volunteered. If he didn't go, he'd have to face the rest of the crew, and Julian didn't want that to happen.

So, when the night came, when the passenger left the deck to go to sleep, Julian and Fingers waited patiently for two good hours. They didn't want to rush in and find him awake. It was always easier to kill a sleeping man than to have to subdue him first. It was safer, too.

The other crewmates were watching the two carefully when they got up to do the job. Julian could feel the gazes on his back, and he wouldn't bet they were all in his favor. He knew at least three people who wouldn't be heart-broken if he got a deadly wound while getting rid of their passenger.

Team spirit was something awesome, or so he had heard.

Fingers went in first. When Julian joined him, he was already working on the locked door. In less than thirty seconds, it creaked open. The two winced, but it wasn't surprising. The _Crimson Lady_ wasn't exactly a silent ship.

If they were lucky, the man'd think this was just the ship creaking as it always did. If they were really lucky, he wouldn't even wake up.

As it was, they found the man sleeping soundly.

And well, two minutes later, he wasn't sleeping anymore. He was a bit too dead for that.

It took Fingers a moment to get the light lit. As soon as they could see a bit better, Julian whistled at the sight of the man's sword. If Crowder hadn't already claimed it as his, he'd have fought for it without even thinking twice about it... They checked what the man had on him, to be sure not to miss anything of worth; they put the wedding ring aside.

Fingers and Julian shared a look, looked back at the cadaver in the bed, whose blood has sluggishly colored his shirt crimson, and resigned themselves. They had to get the body out, before it started to stink, and there was no better moment to do that than right now.

The two men lifted the body and started to make their way out of the room, up the stairs, to the nearest rail. It wasn't exactly easy, as the passenger was more muscular than they had thought at first glance, but it wasn't exactly difficult either.

The body tumbled over the rail, and Fingers sighed. They heard a splash only seconds latter. Julian looked over the rail; the waters were troubled. Figure.

“Do you think Davy Jones is already waiting for you, passenger?”

The water gave him to answer. Not that he had expected one.

Fingers stretched, yawned, and looked down too. Now they could see no reminder of their crime anymore. It was better that way, by all means. If the man had been a fool, going to see the witch, then he was better off dead that way, than another. If he had been a dangerous person, that was one less on Earth.

“What are you muttering, Smith?”

“Nothing, Fingers. Come on, let's call the others. We have a room to loot before dawn.”

The crewmates who weren't sleeping at the time soon joined the two in the room of the deceased. There, they found a few coins, the sword, some spare clothes, the wedding ring, and a dagger. They had perhaps expected a bit more riches, but some of them were real optimists, and it was still better than nothing. Besides, it made sense for the stranger not to have taken too much with him, in case something just like this happened.

Crowder would be satisfied, they thought. He'd most likely take the sword and the money, leaving them to decide who would get the spare clothes, the ring and the dagger.

Julian already knew what he wanted.

They brought all that on deck, and two guys remained next to it to keep an eye out. Julian went to clean his hands from the blood, and after that he went to sleep.

Miles woke him up the next day when Crowder left his cabin. The captain strolled to the loot, glared at everyone while asking if no one had had the genius idea of keeping some of it for themselves, threatened them of bodily harm if so, and seeing that no one was looking away, reached for the sword.

“Ah, I was looking for my things, captain. I see your crew found them. Much appreciated, thanks. I have truthfully no idea how I lost them all during the night...”

Julian froze as he recognized the voice.

So did most of the crew, even if they hadn't heard the man talk many times. If they hadn't recognized the voice, it didn't mean they didn't know who it belonged to. After all, they knew the voices of all their crewmates, so if there was one they couldn't pinpoint...

It'd be the passenger's.

The man joined Crowder next to his stuff, and reached down to get them. Then he turned around, a fake smile on his handsome face, and thanked the captain again. Which allowed Julian to get a good look at the dead man walking.

The stranger was still in the same clothes as when he and Fingers had dumped him in the sea. In fact, his clothes looked more on the dried side than on the dry side. As if he had fallen in the water not too long ago. As if he had been thrown over board during the night, had climbed up back onto the ship, and had waited for it all to dry.

For a moment, Julian wondered if he had dreamt the events of last night.

Because the dead man seemed a bit too alive to his taste.

But the loot was right here, between Crowder and the passenger. And, more importantly, the man's shirt was still red with blood. A red diluted into something a bit more pink than red, true, because of all the water down in the sea, but bloody nonetheless. And if Julian hadn't cut the man's throat, which he was certain of having done, where would the blood have come from?

Everyone stared at the man for a time without saying a word. He ignored them, took his things back, and disappeared to his room. There was a fleating moment of disbelief after he left.

Then Crowder, who had gone pale like the moon, simply headed for his cabin.

The older man in the crew looked at Julian, Miles, and the other sailor who had been present the day before, when the passenger had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes were positively terrified. And Julian didn't really know what to think of it all, but he certainly wasn't going to try that again.

Because if a man could walk up from a watery grave, Julian Smith would not be the one to cross him a second time.

 


End file.
